J. R. R. Tolkien, fully John Ronald Reuel Tolkien

J. R. R.
Tolkien, fully John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
1954
1973

English Writer, Fantasy Novelist, Poet, Philologist and University Profess best known for The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion

Author Quotes

You must understand, young Hobbit, it takes a long time to say anything in Old Entish. And we never say anything unless it is worth taking a long time to say.

With a suddenness that startled them all the wizard sprang to his feet. He was laughing! I have it! he cried. Of course, of course! Absurdly simple, like most riddles when you see the answer. Picking up his staff he stood before the rock and said in a clear voice: Mellon! The star shone out briefly and faded again. Then silently a great doorway was outlined, though not a crack or joint had been visible before. Slowly it divided in the middle and swung outwards inch by inch, until both doors lay back against the wall.

Yet in doubt a man of worth will trust to his own wisdom.

You ought not to be rude to an eagle, when you are only the size of a hobbit, and are up in hid eyrie at night!

With regard to fairy stories, I feel that it is more interesting, and also in its way more difficult, to consider what they are, what they have become for us, and what values the long alchemic processes of time have produced in them. In Dasent's words I would say: 'We must be satisfied with the soup that is set before us, and not desire to see the bones of the ox out of which it has been boiled.'

Yet seldom do they fail of their seed, And that will lie in the dust and rot to spring up again in times and places unlooked-for. The deeds of Men will outlast us.

You renounce your friendship even in the hour of our need ' he said. 'Yet you were glad indeed to receive our aid when you came at last to these shores fainthearted loiterers and well-nigh emptyhanded. In huts on the beaches would you be dwelling still had not the Noldor carved out your haven and toiled upon your walls.

Upon the hearth the fire is red, beneath the roof there is a bed; but not yet weary are our feet, still round the corner we may meet a sudden tree or standing stone that none have seen but we alone. Tree and flower, leaf and grass, let them pass! Let them pass! Hill and water under sky, pass them by! Pass them by! Still round the corner there may wait a new road or a secret gate, and though we pass them by today, tomorrow we may come this way and take the hidden paths that run towards the moon or to the sun. Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe, let them go! Let them go! Sand and stone and pool and dell, fare you well! Fare you well! Home is behind, the world ahead, and there are many paths to tread through shadows to the edge of night, until the stars are all alight. Then world behind and home ahead, we'll wander back to home and bed. Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, away shall fade! Away shall fade! Fire and lamp and meat and bread, and then to bed! And then to bed!

We cannot achieve victory by arms, but by arms we can give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it be.

We'll, you can go on looking forward,' said Gandalf. 'There may be many unexpected feasts ahead of you.

What then was this hope, if you know?? Finrod asked.

Verily,' said Gandalf, now in a loud voice, keen and clear, 'that way lies our hope, where sits our greatest fear. Doom hangs still on a thread. Yet hope there is still, if we can but stand unconquered for a little while.

We don't want any adventures here! You might try over the Hill or Across the Water.

Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,? said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam?s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand. Sam felt that he could sit like that in endless happiness...

When evening in the Shire was grey his footsteps on the Hill were heard; before the dawn he went away on journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden door and darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke. A deadly sword, a healing hand, a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand, a weary pilgrim on the road. A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger, quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hat who leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge alone and Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-d–m his wisdom died.

Victory after all, I suppose! Well, it seems a very gloomy business.

We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by mythmaking, only by becoming subcreator and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic progress leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.

We're going on a bit too fast. You and I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point: Shut the book now, dad; we don't want to read any more.' 'Maybe,' said Sam, 'but I wouldn't be one to say that. Things done and over and made into part of the great tales are different.

When he heard there was nothing to eat, he sat down and wept? Why did I ever wake up! he cried.

Together we will take the road that leads into the West, and far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.

Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless mutters.

We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.

What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance! Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been we'll rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.

When heads are at a loss bodies must serve.

Tom?s words laid bare the hearts of the trees and their thoughts, which were often dark and strange, filled with a hatred of things that go free upon the earth, gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning: destroyers and usurpers. It was not called the Old Forest without reason, for it was indeed ancient, a survivor of vast forgotten woods; and in it there lived yet, ageing no quicker than the hills, the fathers of the fathers of trees, remembering times when they were lords.

Author Picture
First Name
J. R. R.
Last Name
Tolkien, fully John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
Birth Date
1954
Death Date
1973
Bio

English Writer, Fantasy Novelist, Poet, Philologist and University Profess best known for The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion