Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless?

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

Fantasy (in this sense) is, I think, not a lower but a higher form of Art, indeed the most nearly pure form, and so (when achieved) the most potent.

What punishments of God are not gifts?

Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden! Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward. Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded! Forth Eorlingas!

"That's done it!" said Sam. "Now I've rung the front-door bell!"

his old life lay behind in the mists, dark adventure lay in front.