All that is gold does not glitter. Not all those who wander are lost:The old that is strong does not wither. Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

— J.R.R. Tolkien

All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring;Renewed shall be bladed that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.

— J.R.R. Tolkien

All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost;The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. J.R.R. Tolkien

— J.R.R. Tolkien

All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.

— J.R.R. Tolkien

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 honor, you have leaved to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eros and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.

— J.R.R. Tolkien

Although now long estranged, Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed. Dis-graced he may be, yet is not dethroned, and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned:Man, Sub-creator, the refracted Light through who is splintered from a single White to many hues, and endlessly combine din living shapes that move from mind to mind. Though all the crannies of the world we filled with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build Gods and their houses out of dark and light, and sowed the seed of dragons- 'twas our right (used or misused). That right has not decayed:we make still by the law in which we're made. Fantasy remains a human right: we make in our measure and in our derivative mode, because we are made: and not only made, but made in the image and likeness of a Maker.

— J.R.R. Tolkien

A man inherited a field in which was an accumulation of old stone, part of an older hall. Of the old stone some had already been used in building the house in which he actually lived, not far from the old house of his fathers. Of the rest he took some and built a tower. But his friends coming perceived at once (without troubling to climb the steps) that these stones had formerly belonged to a more ancient building. So they pushed the tower over, with no little labor, and in order to look for hidden carvings and inscriptions, or to discover whence the man's distant forefathers had obtained their building material. Some suspecting a deposit of coal under the soil began to dig for it, and forgot even the stones. They all said: 'This tower is most interesting.' But they also said (after pushing it over): 'What a muddle it is in!' And even the man's own descendants, who might have been expected to consider what he had been about, were heard to murmur: 'He is such an odd fellow! Imagine using these old stones just to build a nonsensical tower! Why didn't he restores the old house? He had no sense of proportion.' But from the top of that tower the man had been able to look out upon the sea.

— J.R.R. Tolkien

A man that flies from his fear may find that he has only taken a shortcut to meet it.

— J.R.R. Tolkien

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that came down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Barn and Luthier

— J.R.R. Tolkien

And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men were hushed. And he sang to them, now in the Even-tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness.

— J.R.R. Tolkien