I am old, Gandalf. I don't look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something.

And its object is Art not power, sub-creation not domination and tyrannous re-forming of Creation.

Art is the human process that produces by the way (it is not its only or ultimate object) Secondary Belief.

We all long for Eden, and we are constantly glimpsing it: our whole nature at its best and least corrupted, its gentlest and most human, is still soaked with the sense of exile.

A hunted man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship.

Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.

Speak politely to an enraged dragon.