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

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.

There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow.

There was a solemn article in the local paper seriously advocating systematic exterminating of the entire German nation as the only proper course after military victory: because, if you please, they are rattlesnakes, and don't know the difference between good and evil! (What of the writer?) The Germans have just as much right to declare the Poles and Jews exterminable vermin, subhuman, as we have to select the Germans: in other words, no right, whatever they have done.

They cursed us. Murderer they called us. They cursed us, and drove us away. And we wept, Precious, we wept to be so alone. And we only wish to catch fish so juicy sweet. And we forgot the taste of bread... the sound of trees... the softness of the wind. We even forgot our own name. My Precious.

Things are drawing towards the end now, unless I am mistaken. There is an unpleasant time just in front of you; but keep your heart up!

Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows the West Wind goes walking, and about the walls it goes. What news from the West, oh wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight? ?I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey; I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more. The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.? Oh, Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar. But you came not from the empty lands where no men are. From the mouth of the sea the South Wind flies, from the sand hills and the stones; the wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans what news from the South, oh sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve. ?Ask me not where he doth dwell--so many bones there lie on the white shores and on the black shores under the stormy sky; so many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing sea. Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!? Oh Boromir! Beyond the gate the Seaward road runs South, but you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey seas mouth. From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls and loud and cold about the Tower its loud horn calls. What news from the North, oh mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away. ?Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought his cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought. His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest; and Rauros, Golden Rauros Falls, bore him upon its breast.? Oh Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze to Rauros, Golden Rauros Falls until the end of days.

There is darkness there that never sleeps.

There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Il£vatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made. And he spoke to them, propounding to them themes of music; and they sang before him, and he was glad. But for a long while they sang only each alone, or but few together, while the rest hearkened; for each comprehended only that part of the mind of Il£vatar from which he came, and in the understanding of their brethren they grew but slowly. Yet ever as they listened they came to deeper understanding, and increased in unison and harmony.

They hammered on the outer gate and called, but there was at first no answer; and then to their surprise someone blew a horn, and the lights in the windows went out. A voice shouted in the dark: 'Who's that? Be off! You can't come in. Can't you read the notice: No admittance between sundown and sunrise?' 'Of course we can't read the notice in the dark,' Sam shouted back. 'And if hobbits of the Shire are to be kept out in the wet on a night like this, I'll tear down your notice when I find it.

Things might have been different, but they could not have been better. - From Leaf by Niggle

Thus Aragorn for the first time in the full light of day beheld owyn, Lady of Rohan, and thought her fair, fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come to womanhood. And she was now suddenly aware of him: tall heir of kings, wise with many winters, greycloaked, hiding a power that yet she felt. For a moment still as stone she stood, then turning swiftly she was gone.

There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off.

There was once a little man called Niggle, who had a long journey to make. He did not want to go, indeed the whole idea was distasteful to him; but he could not get out of it. He knew he would have to start some time, but he did not hurry with his preparations.

They have seen Death and ultimate defeat, and yet they would not in despair retreat, but oft to victory have tuned the lyre and kindled hearts with legendary fire, illuminating Now and dark Hath-been with light of suns as yet by no man seen.

This hobbit was a very well-to-do hobbit, and his name was Baggins. The Bagginses had lived in the neighborhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbors? respect, but he gained?well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.

Till suddenly his hand met what felt like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor of the tunnel. It was a turning-point in his career, but he did not know it. He put the ring in his pocket almost without thinking; certainly, it did not seem of any use at the moment.

Then suddenly he beheld his sister owyn as she lay, and he knew her. He stood a moment as a man who is pierced in the midst of a cry by an arrow through the heart; and then his face went deathly white; and a cold fury rose in him, so that all speech failed him for a while. A fey mood took him. owyn, owyn he cried at last: owyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death Death take us all Then without taking counsel or waiting for the approach of the men of the City, he spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling: Death Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending And with that the host began to move. But the Rohirrim sang no more. Death they cried with one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like a great tide their battle swept about their fallen king and passed, roaring away southwards.

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