The Nazgul they were; the Ringwraiths, the Enemy's most terribly servants; darkness went with them and they cried with the voices of death.

I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.

Faithful heart may have froward tongue.

The most improper job of any man, even saints (who at any rate were at least unwilling to take it on), is bossing other men. Not one in a million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the opportunity.

All that is gold does not glitter.

His face was sad and stern because of the doom that was laid on him, and yet hope dwelt ever in the depths of his heart, from which mirth would arise at times like a spring from a rock.

End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.