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.

Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars.

For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.

Why must you speak your thoughts? Silence, if fair words stick in your throat, would serve all our ends better.

The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.

The Hobbits are just rustic English people, made small in size because it reflects the generally small reach of their imagination - not the small reach of their courage or latent power.

This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away.