I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.

You can only come to the morning through the shadows.

Few other griefs amid the ill chances of this world have more bitterness and shame for a man's heart than to behold the love of a lady so fair and brave that cannot be returned.

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that came down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien

I'm going on an adventure!

I give you this toast: To the Hobbits. May they outlast the Sarumans and see spring again in the trees.

In doubt a man of worth will trust to his own wisdom.