I am wholly in favour of 'dull stodges'. A surprising large proportion prove 'educable': for which a primary qualification is the willingness to do work.

The most improper job of any man, even saints (who at any rate were at least unwilling to take it on), is bossing other men. Not one in a million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the opportunity.

It is mine, I tell you. My own. My precious. Yes, my precious.

The dragon is withered, His bones are now crumbled; His armour is shivered, His splendour is humbled! Though sword shall be rusted, And throne and crown perish With strength that men trusted And wealth that they cherish, Here grass is still growing, And leaves are yet swinging, The white water flowing, And elves are yet singing Come! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the valley!

And it is not our part here to take thought only for a season, or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world.

Many are the strange chances of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.

We meet again, at the turn of the tide. A great storm is coming, but the tide has turned.