She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore there issued a great light that illuminated her alone and left all else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Then she let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white whose gentle voice was soft and sad.

He was kindhearted, in a way. You know the sort of kind heart: it made him uncomfortable more often than it made him do anything; and even when he did anything, it did not prevent him from grumbling, losing his temper and swearing (mostly to himself).

The burned hand teaches best. After that, advice about fire goes to the heart.

Farewell! O Gandalf! May you ever appear where you are most needed and least expected!

Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to; while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway.

Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine upon your faces!

Splendid! They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons and laburnums of fire and hang in the twilight all evening!