This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away.

This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers; Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal; Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down.

The future, good or ill, was not forgotten, but ceased to have any power over the present. Health and hope grew strong in them, and they were content with each good day as it came, taking pleasure in every meal, and in every word and song.

I'm a Roman Catholic! A devout Roman Catholic.

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.

To be a cult figure in one's own lifetime is most unpleasant.

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