I am in fact a Hobbit (in all but size). I like gardens, trees, and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe, and like good plain food (unrefrigerated), but detest French cooking; I like, and even dare to wear in these dull days, ornamental waistcoats. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field); have a very simple sense of humor (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome); I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I do not travel much.
Each day before the end of eve she sought her lover, nor would him leave, until the stars were dimmed, and day came glimmering eastward silver-grey. Then trembling-veiled she would appear, and dance before him, half in fear; there flitting just before his feet she gently chid with laughter sweet: 'Come! dance now, Beren, dance with me! For fain thy dancing I would see!
Folly it may seem. Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him?. We live now upon an island amid many perils, and our hands are more often upon the bowstring than upon the harp
I must say the enclosed letter from Rtten and Loening is a bit stiff. Do I suffer this impertinence because of the possession of a German name, or do their lunatic laws require a certificate of 'arisch' origin from all persons of all countries? ... I do not regard the (probable) absence of all Jewish blood as necessarily honorable; and I have many Jewish friends, and should regret giving any color to the notion that I subscribed to the wholly pernicious and unscientific race-doctrine.
In those days of our tale, there were still some people who had both elves and heroes of the North for ancestors and Elrond, the master of the house, was their chief. He was as noble and as fair in face as an elf lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves and as kind as summer.
I had a mind to make a body of more or less connected legend, ranging from the large and cosmogonic, to the level of romantic fairy-story - the larger founded on the lesser in contact with the earth, the lesser drawing splendor from the vast backcloths - which I could dedicate simply to: to England; to my country. ... I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama.
Far over the misty mountains cold to dungeons deep and caverns old we must away ere break of day to seek the pale enchanted gold. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, while hammers fell like ringing bells in places deep, where dark things sleep, in hollow halls beneath the fells. For ancient king and elvish lord there many a gleaming golden hoard they shaped and wrought, and light they caught to hide in gems on hilt of sword. On silver necklaces they strung the flowering stars, on crowns they hung the dragon-fire, in twisted wire they meshed the light of moon and sun. Far over the misty mountains cold to dungeons deep and caverns old we must away, ere break of day, to claim our long-forgotten gold. Goblets they carved there for themselves and harps of gold; where no man delves there lay they long, and many a song was sung unheard by men or elves. The pines were roaring on the height, the wind was moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread; the trees like torches blazed with light. The bells were ringing in the dale and men looked up with faces pale; the dragon's ire more fierce than fire laid low their towers and houses frail. The mountain smoked beneath the moon; the dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall to dying fall beneath his feet, beneath the moon. Far over the misty mountains grim to dungeons deep and caverns dim we must away, ere break of day, to win our harps and gold from him!
He loved mountains, or he had loved the thought of them marching on the edge of stories brought from far away; but now he was borne down by the insupportable weight of Middle-earth. He longed to shut out the immensity in a quiet room by a fire.
I had no desire to have either dreams or adventures like Alice, and the amount of them merely amused me. I had very little desire to look for buried treasure or fight pirates, and Treasure Island left me cool. Red Indians were better: there were bows and arrows (I had and have a wholly unsatisfied desire to shoot well with a bow), and strange languages, and glimpses of an archaic mode of life, and, above all, forests in such stories. But the land of Merlin and Arthur was better than these, and best of all the nameless North of Sigurd of the V”lsungs, and the prince of all dragons. Such lands were pre-eminently desirable.