There was a fire in the wide hearth before them, and it was burning with a sweet smell, as if it were built of apple-wood.

May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.

I am dreading the publication, for it will be impossible not to mind what is said. I have exposed my heart to be shot at.

And that's the way of a real tale. Take any one that you're fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don't know. And you don't want them to.

The whole thing is quite hopeless, so it's no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won't come.

Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!” he said, and it became a proverb, though we now say ‘out of the frying-pan into the fire’ in the same sort of uncomfortable situations.

Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall