The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

How beautiful the stars are, and the Moon!' 'They do cheer the heart, don't they?' said Sam looking up.

If we fail, we fall. If we succeed - then we will face the next task.

Then Frodo's heart flamed within him, and without thinking what he did, whether it was folly or despair or courage, he took the Phial in his left hand, and with his right hand drew his sword. Sting flashed out, and the sharp elven-blade sparkled in the silver light, but at its edges a blue fire flicked. Then holding the star aloft and the bright sword advanced, Frodo, hobbit of the Shire, walked steadily down to meet the eyes.

Your land must be a realm of peace and content, and there must gardeners be in high honour.

What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among the dogs? Too long have they escaped the gibbet themselves. But the noose comes, slow in the drawing, tight and hard in the end. Hang if you will!

Long time I fell,' Gandalf said at last, slowly, as if thinking back with difficulty. 'Long I fell, and he fell with me. His fire was about me. I was burned. Then we plunged into the deep water, and all was dark. Cold it was as the tide of death: almost it froze my heart.

It is difficult with these evil folk to know when they are in league, and when they are cheating one another.

In all the long wars with the Dark Tower treason has ever been our greatest foe.

There is indeed a wide waste of time between the River and the Mountain, between the loss and the finding. But the gap in the knowledge of the Wise has been filled at last. Yet too slowly. For the Enemy has been close behind, closer even than I feared.

My heart burns me too, and I would have started sooner; but now I must rest a little to run the better

There is some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for.

And the smell of the air! I used to spend a week just breathing.

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

Another bed was set beside him for his servant. Sam hesitated fora moment, then bowing very low: “Good night, Captain, my lord,” he said. “You took the chance, sir.” “Did I so?” said Faramir. “Yes, sir, and showed your quality: the very highest.” Faramir smiled. “A pert servant, Master Samwise. But nay: the praise of the praiseworthy is above all rewards. Yet there was naught in this to praise. I had no lure or desire to do other than I have done.” “Ah well, sir,” said Sam, “you said my master had an Elvish air; and the twas good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds of, of – well, Gandalf, of wizards.” “Maybe,” said Faramir. “Maybe you discern from far away the air of Numenor. Good night!

Ents the earthborn, old as mountains, the wide-walkers, water-drinking; and hungry as hunters, the Hobbit children, the laughing-folk, the little people.

I had forgotten that,' said Eomer. ‘It is hard to be sure of anything among so many marvels. The world is all grown strange. Elf and Dwarf in company walk in our daily fields; and folk speak with the Lady of the Wood and yet live; and the Sword comes back to war that was broken in the long ages ere the fathers of our fathers rode into the Mark! How shall a man judge what to do in such times?’ ‘As he ever has judged,’ said Aragorn. ‘Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own house.

Gollum’s eyes glinted. ‘He doesn’t know what we minds, does he, precious?

First Saruman was shown that the power of his voice was waning. He cannot be both tyrant and counsellor. When the plot is ripe it remains no longer secret. Yet he fell into the trap, and tried to deal with his victims piece-meal, while others listened.

And we shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful fold of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in the,, usually their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they has, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on – and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end.

That, I guess, is the language of the Rohirrim," the Elf commented, "for it is like to this land itself; rich and rolling in part, and else hard and stern as the mountains. But I cannot guess what it means, save that it is laden with the sadness of mortal men.

We are a failing people, a springless autumn.