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Trolls simply detest the very sight of dwarves (uncooked).

J. R. R. Tolkien

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J. R. R. Tolkien
Age: 81 †
Born: 1892
Born: January 3
Died: 1973
Died: September 2
Author
Essayist
Historian
Illustrator
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Literary Critic
Military Officer
Poet
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John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
John R. R. Tolkien
J-R-R Tolkien
Tolkien
J.R.R. Tolkien
J. R. R. Tolkien
Uncooked
Trolls
Troll
Dwarves
Detest
Sight
Simply

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Most English-speaking people, for instance, will admit that cellar door is 'beautiful', especially if dissociated from its sense (and its spelling). More beautiful than, say, sky, and far more beautiful than beautiful. Well then, in Welsh for me cellar doors are extraordinarily frequent.
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At my age I'm exactly the kind of person who has lived through one of the most quickly changing periods known to history. Surely there could never be in seventy years so much change.
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Farewell, they cried, Wherever you fare till your eyries receive you at the journey's end! That is the polite thing to say among eagles. May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks, answered Gandalf, who knew the correct reply.
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Here ends the SILMARILLION. If it has passed from the high and the beautiful to darkness and ruin, that was of old the fate of Arda Marred and if any change shall come and the Marring be amended, Manwë and Varda may know but they have not revealed it, and it is not declared in the dooms of Mandos.
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We are being at once wisely aware of our own frivolity if we avoid hitting and whacking and prefer 'striking' and 'smiting' talk and chat and prefer 'speech' and 'discourse' well-bred, brilliant, or polite noblemen (visions of snobbery columns in the Press, and fat men on the Riviera) and prefer the 'worthy, brave and courteous men' of long ago.
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Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!” he said, and it became a proverb, though we now say ‘out of the frying-pan into the fire’ in the same sort of uncomfortable situations.
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You have nice manners for a thief and a liar, said the dragon.
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Thief, thief, thief! Baggins! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it forever!
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Venice seemed incredibly lovely, elvishly lovely--to me like a dream of Old Gondor, or Pelargir of the Numenorean Ships, before the return of the Shadow.
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Fifteen birds in five firtrees, their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze! But, funny little birds, they had no wings! O what shall we do with the funny little things? Roast 'em alive, or stew them in a pot fry them, boil them and eat them hot?
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True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.
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But he that sows lies in the end shall not lack of a harvest, and soon he may rest from toil indeed, while others reap and sow in his stead.
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For so sworn good or evil an oath may not be broken and it shall pursue oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world's end.
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May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.
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My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!
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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.
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