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His love for Frodo rose above all other thoughts, and forgetting his peril he cried aloud: 'I'm coming Mr. Frodo!

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
Thoughts
Coming
Forget
Love
Aloud
Forgetting
Peril
Cried
Rose

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The Resurrection is the eucatastrophe of the story of the Incarnation - This story begins and ends in joy.
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I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.
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Valour needs first strength, then a weapon.
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After some while Bilbo became impatient. Well, what is it? he said. The answer's not a kettle boiling over, as you seem to think by the noise you are making.
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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).
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He [Bilbo] fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait.
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Thief, thief, thief! Baggins! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it forever!
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If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.
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What have I got in my pocket? he said aloud. He was talking to himself, but Gollum thought it was a riddle, and he was frightfully upset. Not fair! not fair! he hissed. It isn't fair, my precious, is it, to ask us what it's got in it's nassty little pocketsess?
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Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall
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But the only measure that he knows is desire desire for power and so he judges all hearts. Into his heart the thought will not enter that any will refuse it that having the Ring we may seek to destroy it. If we seek this we shall put him out of reckoning.
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The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.
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But Sam turned to Bywater, and so came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap. He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said
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And thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters.
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grows like a seed in the dark out of the leaf-mould of the mind: out of all that has been seen or thought or read, that has long ago been forgotten, descending into the deeps.
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Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory
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Don't adventures ever have an end? I suppose not. Someone else always has to carry on on the story.
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But to Sam the evening deepened to darkness as he stood at the Haven and as he looked at the grey sea he saw only a shadow in the waters that was soon lost in the West. There he stood far into the night, hearing only the sigh and murmur of the waves on the shores of Middle-Earth, and the sound of them sank deep into his heart.
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