May the hair on your toes never fall out!

Alive without breath, As cold as death; Never thirsty, ever drinking, All in mail never clinking.

Over the field rang his clear voice calling: ‘Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world’s ending!

Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,' he said slowly, 'likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now at least the last march of the Ents may be worth a song.

You may not like my burglar, but please don't damage him.

We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!

There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.