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Their horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed their gray coats glistened, their long tails flowed in the wind, their manes were braided on their proud necks.

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
Horse
Braided
Clean
Flowed
Wind
Stature
Proud
Coats
Strong
Tails
Great
Horses
Long
Necks
Manes
Gray
Glistened

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Memory is not what the heart desires. That is only a mirror, be it clear as Kheled-zaram. Or so says the heart of Gimli the Dwarf.
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Then she fell on her knees, saying: 'I beg thee!' 'Nay, lady,' he said, and taking her by the hand he raised her. The he kissed her hand, and sprang into the saddle, and rode away, and did not look back and only those who knew him well and were near to him saw the pain that he bore.
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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 cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence.
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If you want to know what cram is, I can only say that I don’t know the recipe but it is biscuitish, keeps good indefinitely, is supposed to be sustaining, and is certainly not entertaining, being in fact very uninteresting except as a chewing exercise.
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It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterward were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait.
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I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.
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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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For some time I lived in fear of receiving a letter signed 'S. Gollum'. That would have been more difficult to deal with.
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Often does hatred hurt itself.
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The war made me poignantly aware of the beauty of the world.
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Then holding the star aloft and the bright sword advanced, Frodo, hobbit of the Shire, walked steadily down to meet the eyes.
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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 there was Frodo, pale and worn, and yet himself again and in his eyes there was peace now, neither strain of will, nor madness, nor any fear. His burden was taken away.
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Wraiths! Wraiths on wings!
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Your lullaby would waken a drunken goblin!
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Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn!
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Here ends the SILMARILLION. If it has passed from the high and the beautiful to darkness and ruin, that was of old the fate of Arda Marred and if any change shall come and the Marring be amended, Manwë and Varda may know but they have not revealed it, and it is not declared in the dooms of Mandos.
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The main mark of modern governments is that we do not know who governs, de facto any more than de jure. We see the politician and not his backer still less the backer of the backer or, what is most important of all, the banker of the backer.
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I put before you the one great thing to love on earth: the Blessed Sacrament.
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