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Frodo: Go back, Sam! I’m going to Mordor alone. Sam: Of course you are, and I’m coming with you!

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
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Literary Critic
Military Officer
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John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
John R. R. Tolkien
J-R-R Tolkien
Tolkien
J.R.R. Tolkien
J. R. R. Tolkien
Fellowship
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Coming
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Alone
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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.
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The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out.
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All my own small perception of beauty both in majesty and simplicity is founded.
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Fantasy (in this sense) is, I think, not a lower but a higher form of Art, indeed the most nearly pure form, and so (when achieved) the most potent.
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I am wholly in favour of 'dull stodges'. A surprising large proportion prove 'educable': for which a primary qualification is the willingness to do work.
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For victory is victory, however small, nor is its worth only from what follows from it.
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And long there he lay, an image of the splendour of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world.
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Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!” he said, and it became a proverb, though we now say ‘out of the frying-pan into the fire’ in the same sort of uncomfortable situations.
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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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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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We are lost, lost,' said Gollum. 'No name, no business, no Precious, nothing. Only empty. Only hungry yes, we are hungry. A few little fishes, nasty bony little fishes, for a poor creature, and they say death. So wise they are so just, so very just
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I may be a burglar...but I'm an honest one, I hope, more or less.
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Thief, thief, thief! Baggins! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it forever!
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Farewell! O Gandalf! May you ever appear where you are most needed and least expected!
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Little by little, one travels far
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There was a willow hanging over the mill-pool and I learned to climb it. It belonged to a butcher on the Stratford Road, I think. One day they cut it down. They didn't do anything with it: the log just lay there. I never forgot that.
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The world was fair, the mountains tall In Elder Days before the fall.
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In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.
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No taste of food, no feel of water, no sound of wind, no memory of tree or grass or flower, no image of moon or star are left to me. I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades.
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