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Many are the strange chances of the world, and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.

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
World
Chance
Help
Hope
Falter
Helping
Chances
Hands
Weak
Come
Strange
Many
Wise
Life
Shall

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All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Erol and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.
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Trolls simply detest the very sight of dwarves (uncooked).
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True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.
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He drew a deep breath. 'Well, I'm back,' he said.
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Tomorrow we may come this way, And take the hidden paths that run Towards the Moon or to the Sun
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Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo! By water, wood and hill, by reed and willow, By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us! Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
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I threw down my enemy, and he fell from the high place and broke the mountain-side where he smote it in his ruin.
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I have spoken words of hope. But only of hope. Hope is not victory.
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The doom lies in yourself, not in your name.
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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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Come, Mr. Frodo!' he cried. 'I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you.
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Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn!
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For if joyful is the fountain that rises in the sun, its springs are in the wells of sorrow unfathomable at the foundations of the Earth.
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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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We set out to save the Shire, Sam and it has been saved - but not for me.
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If this is victory, then our hands are too small to hold it.
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Still round the corner there may wait, A new road or a secret gate.
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Every writer making a secondary world wishes in some measure to be a real maker, or hopes that he is drawing on reality: hopes that the peculiar quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are derived from Reality, or are flowing into it.
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And now leave me in peace for a bit! I don't want to answer a string of questions while I am eating. I want to think! Good Heavens! said Pippin. At breakfast?
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Saruman, I said, standing away from him, only one hand at a time can weild the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we!
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