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

Those who wander are not always lost.

To the dismay of those that stood by, about the body of Saruman a grey mist gathered, and rising very slowly to a great height like smoke from a fire, as a pale shrouded figure it loomed over the Hill. For a moment it wavered, looking to the West; but out of the West came a cold wind, and it bent away, and with a sigh dissolved into nothing.

There are other men, and other lives, and time still to be.

There may come a time at last that I shall take the hidden paths that run east of the moon west of the sun.

These folk are hewers of trees and hunters of beasts; therefore we are their unfriends, and if they will not depart we shall afflict them in all ways that we can.

They walked as it were in a black vapour wrought of veritable darkness itself that, as it was breathed, brought blindness not only to eyes but to the mind, so that even the memory of colors and of forms and of any light faded out of thought. Night had always been, and always would be, and night was all.

Though he walked and breathed, and about him living leaves and flowers were stirred by the same cool wind as fanned his face, Frodo felt he was in a timeless land that did not fade or change or fall into forgetfulness. When he had gone and passed again into the outer world, still Frodo the wanderer from the Shire would walk there, upon the grass among elanor and niphredil in fair Lothlorien

To the sea, to the sea! The white gulls are crying, the wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying. west, west away, the round sun is falling, grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling, the voices of my people that have gone before me? I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me; for our days are ending and our years failing. i will pass the wide waters lonely sailing. long are the waves on the last shore falling, sweet are the voices in the lost isle calling, in Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover, where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!

There are some things that it is better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.

There was a deep silence, only scraped on its surfaces by the faint quiver of empty seed-plumes, and broken grass-blades trembling in small air-movements they could not feel. 'Not a bird!' said Sam mournfully. 'No, no birds,' said Gollum. 'Nice birds!' He licked his teeth. 'No birds here. There are snakeses, wormses, things in the pools. Lots of things, lots of nasty things. No birds,' he ended sadly. Sam looked at him with distaste.

These grey days wasted in wearily going over, over and over again, the dreary topics, the dull backwaters of the art of killing, are not enjoyable.

They we're frightfully angry. Quite apart from the stones no spider has ever liked being called Attercop, and Tomnoddy of course is insulting to anybody.

Though here at journey's end I lie in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.

To think I should have lived to be goodmorninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I was selling buttons at the door!

There cannot be any 'story' without a fall - all stories are ultimately about the fall - at least not for human minds as we know them and have them.

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.

These hobbits will sit on the edge of ruin and discuss the pleasures of the table.

They were lost completely in lightless dark.

Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone, we go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door!

To walk in Time, perhaps, as men walk on long roads... to see the lie of old and even forgotten lands, to behold ancient men walking, and to hear their languages as they spoke them, in the days before the days, when tongues of forgotten lineage were heard in kingdoms long fallen by the shores of the Atlantic.

There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.

There was a little corner of his mind that was still his own, and light came through it, as though a chink in the dark: light out of the past. It was actually pleasant, I think, to hear a kindly voice agin, bringing up memories of wind, and trees, and sun on the grass, and such forgotten things.

They also keep a horned cow as proud as any queen; but music turns her head like ale, and makes her wave her tufted tail and dance upon the green? so the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle, a jig that would wake the dead: he squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune, while the landlord shook the man of the moon: 'it's after three' he said. They rolled the man slowly up the hill and bundled him into the moon, while his horses galloped up in rear, and the cow came capering like a deer, and a dish ran up with the spoon. Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle; the dog began to roar, the cow and the horses stood on their heads; the guests all bounded from their beds and danced upon the floor. With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke! The cow jumped over the moon, and the little dog laughed to see such fun, and the Saturday dish went off at a run with the silver Sunday spoon. The round moon rolled behind the hill, as the sun raised up her head. She hardly believed her fiery eyes; for though it was day, to her surprise they all went back to bed!

They've taken everything, Sam,'said Frodo. 'Everything I had. Do you understand? Everything!' He cowered on the floor again with bowed head, as his own words brought home to him the fullness of the disaster, and despair overwhelmed him. 'The quest has failed, Sam. Even if we get out of here, we can't escape. Only Elves can escape. Away, away out of Middle-earth, far away over the Sea. If even that is wide enough to keep the Shadow out.' 'No, not everything, Mr. Frodo. And it hasn't failed, not yet. I took it, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon. And I've kept it safe. It's round my neck now, and a terrible burden it is, too.' Sam fumbled for the Ring and its chain. 'But I suppose you must take it back.' Now it had come to it, Sam felt reluctant to give up the Ring and burden his master with it. 'You've got it?' gasped Frodo. 'You've got it here? Sam, you're a marvel!' Then quickly and strangely his tone changed. 'Give it to me!' he cried, standing up, holding out a trembling hand. 'Give it to me at once! You can't have it!

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, seven for the Dwarf-lords in halls of stone, nine for Mortal Men, doomed to die, one for the Dark Lord on his dark throne in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them in the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

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