And thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters.

Fair speech may hide a foul heart.

Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something.... That there's some good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.

Leave him! I said. I never mean to. I am going with him, if he climbs to the Moon; and if any of these Black Riders try to stop him, they'll have Sam Gamgee to reckon with, I said. They laughed.

I should like to save the Shire, if I could - though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don't feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.

Where iss it, where iss it: my Precious, my Precious? It's ours, it is, and we wants it.

The world changes, and all that once was strong now proves unsure.