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Such bees! Bilbo had never seen anything like them. If one were to sting me, He thought I should swell up as big as I am!

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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Translator
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
John R. R. Tolkien
J-R-R Tolkien
Tolkien
J.R.R. Tolkien
J. R. R. Tolkien
Like
Swell
Sting
Bees
Seen
Bigs
Thought
Anything
Never
Bilbo

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I have the hatred of apartheid in my bones.
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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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What does your heart tell you?
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When he heard there was nothing to eat, he sat down and wept… “Why did I ever wake up!” he cried.
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Go back? he thought. No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go! So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter.
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The stars are far brighter Than gems without measure, The moon is far whiter Than silver in treasure The fire is more shining On hearth in the gloaming Than gold won by mining, So why go a-roaming? O! Tra-la-la-lally Come back to the Valley.
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This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected.
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Things are drawing towards the end now, unless I am mistaken. There is an unpleasant time just in front of you but keep your heart up!
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One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
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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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Lazy Lob and crazy Cob are weaving webs to wind me. I am far more sweet than other meat, but still they cannot find me! Here am I, naughty little fly you are fat and lazy. You cannot trap me, though you try, in your cobwebs crazy.
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Who are you, Master?' he asked. 'Eh, what?' said Tom sitting up, and his eyes glinting in the gloom. 'Don't you know my name yet? That's the only answer. Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless?
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Eastward the dawn rose, ridge behind ridge into the morning, and vanished out of eyesight into guess it was no more than a glimmer blending with the hem of the sky, but it spoke to them, out of the memory and old tales, of the high and distant mountains.
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If you're going to have a complicated story you must work to a map otherwise you'll never make a map of it afterwards.
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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.
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The world was fair, the mountains tall In Elder Days before the fall.
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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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We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!
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He did not go much further, but sat down on the cold floor and gave himself up to complete miserableness, for a long while. He thought of himself frying bacon and eggs in his own kitchen at home - for he could feel inside that it was high time for some meal or other but that only made him miserabler.
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