Gandalf! I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What's happened to the world?
It is mine, I tell you. My own. My precious. Yes, my precious.
On their deathbed men will speak true, they say.
May the hair on your toes never fall out!
Shall we mourn here deedless forever a shadow-folk mist-haunting dropping vain tears in the thankless sea
We may indeed in counsel point to the higher road, but we cannot compel any free creature to walk upon it. That leadeth to tyranny, which disfigureth good and maketh it seem hateful.