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We may stand, if only on one leg, or at least be left still upon our knees.

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
Legs
Stand
Least
Upon
Left
Stills
Still
Pippin
May
Knees

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Elrond's house was perfect, whether you liked food or sleep or story-telling or singing (or reading), or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all. Merely to be there was a cure for weariness. ... Evil things did not come into the secret valley of Rivendell.
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Struck by lightning! Struck by lightning!
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And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge.
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Your lullaby would waken a drunken goblin!
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Tears unnumbered ye shall shed.
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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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Have you thought of an ending?' 'Yes , several, and all are dark and unpleasant,' said Frodo. 'Oh , that won't do!' said Bilbo. 'Books ought to have good endings. How would this do: and they all settled down and lived together happily ever after?' 'It will do well, if it ever comes to that,' said Frodo.
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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.
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Green are the leaves I leave in Mirkwood.
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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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And yet their wills did not yield, and they struggled on.
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There is no ship now that can bear me hence
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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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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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My own dear mother was a martyr indeed, and it is not to everybody that God grants so easy a way to his great gifts as he did to Hilary and myself, giving us a mother who killed herself with labour and trouble to ensure us keeping the faith.
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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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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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I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure.
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Far more often [than asking the question 'Is it true?'] they [children] have asked me: 'Was he good? Was he wicked?' That is, they were far more concerned to get the Right side and the Wrong side clear. For that is a question equally important in History and in Faerie.
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This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers Gnaws iron, bites steel Grinds hard stones to meal Slays king, ruins town, And beats high mountain down.
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