Quote

Now it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to while things that are uncomfortable, palpitating, and even gruesome, may make a good tale, and take a deal of telling anyway.

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
Linguist
Literary Critic
Military Officer
Poet
Teacher
Translator
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
John R. R. Tolkien
J-R-R Tolkien
Tolkien
J.R.R. Tolkien
J. R. R. Tolkien
Good
Told
Anyway
Things
Days
Telling
May
Soon
Take
Spend
Palpitating
Even
Listen
Gruesome
Thing
Deal
Tale
Much
Deals
Tales
Make
Strange
Uncomfortable

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My Precious, my Precious.
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And its object is Art not power, sub-creation not domination and tyrannous re-forming of Creation.
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please don't cook me, kind sirs! I am a good cook myself, and cook better than I cook, if you see what I mean.
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You will notice already that Mr. Baggins was not quite so prosy as he liked to believe, also that he was very fond of flowers.
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For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green.
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How do you move on? You move on when your heart finally understands that there is no turning back.
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Don't tell us about dreams – dream dinners aren't any good and we can't share them.
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The world was fair, the mountains tall In Elder Days before the fall.
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Dwarves are not heroes, but a calculating folk with a great idea of the value of money some are tricky and treacherous and pretty bad lots some are not but are decent enough people like Thorin and Company, if you don't expect too much.
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deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us but they are gone.
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May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks.
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If you want to know what cram is, I can only say that I don’t know the recipe but it is biscuitish, keeps good indefinitely, is supposed to be sustaining, and is certainly not entertaining, being in fact very uninteresting except as a chewing exercise.
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Where iss it, where iss it: my Precious, my Precious? It's ours, it is, and we wants it.
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Wraiths! Wraiths on wings!
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Tears unnumbered ye shall shed.
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End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.
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Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising I came singing into the sun, sword unsheathing. To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking: Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!
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Is it nice, my preciousss? Is it juicy? Is it scrumptiously crunchable?
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The Bagginses had lived in the neighbourhood 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.
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I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure.
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