“The lord of distant archery, Apollo,answered: "Lord of earthquake, sound of mindyou could not call me if I strove with youfor the sake of mortals, poor things that they are.Ephemeral as the flamelike budding leaves,men flourish on the ripe wheat of the grainland,then in spiritless age they waste and die.”

“Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.”

“Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs;”

“Why me, lord? Don't answer that!”

“Three Rings for Elven-Kings under the skySeven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stoneNine for Mortal Men doomed to dieOne for the Dark Lord on his dark throneIn the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie”

“Why do you call Me, 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I say? (Luke 6:46)”