Those who don't understand prayer -- let them go to sea.
Three women and a goose make a market.
To every saint his torch.
What worth has beauty if it is not seen?
When rogues go in procession the devil carries the cross.
When the danger is past God is cheated.
When the sun is highest it casts the least shadow.
When wine comes in, modesty leaves.
Wisdom acquired by experience is basically only very bitterly acquired.
You cannot discover new oceans unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.
A synopsis is a cold thing. You do it with the front of your mind. If you're going to stay with it, you never get quite the same magic as when you're going all out.
I'm in the business of providing people with secondary satisfactions. It wouldn't have done me much good if they had all written their own plays, would it?
A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities.
Against delay. Against the way that seems easier. Against refusal of the burden that is laid on me. Against - well, if it must be said, against trust in the strength and truth of Men.
All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in this world Frodo, besides the will of evil...
And that's the way of a real tale. Take any one that you're fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don't know. And you don't want them to.
And when [B‰or] lay dead, of no wound or grief, but stricken by age, the Eldar saw for the first time the swift waning of the life of Men, and the death of weariness which they knew not in themselves; and they grieved greatly for the loss of their friends. But B‰or at the last had relinquished his life willingly and passed in peace; and the Eldar wondered much at the strange fate of Men, for in all their lore there was no account of it, and its end was hidden from them.
Any corner of that county (however fair or squalid) is in an indefinable way 'home' to me, as no other part of the world is. There was a willow hanging over the mill-pool and I learned to climb it. It belonged to a butcher on the Stratford Road, I think. One day they cut it down. They didn't do anything with it: the log just lay there. I never forgot that.
Faith then they vowed fast, unyielding, there each to each in oaths binding. Bliss there was born when Brynhild woke; yet fate is strong to find its end.
He led the way in under the huge branches of the trees. Old beyond guessing, they seemed. Great trailing beards of lichen hung from them, blowing and swaying in the breeze. Out of the shadows, the hobbits peeped, gazing back down the slope: little furtive figures that in the dim light looked like elf-children in the deeps of time peering out of the Wild Wood in wonder at their first Dawn.