“Anar calúva tielyanna”

“Then the Unlight of Ungoliant rose up even to the roots of the trees, and Melkor sprang upon the mound; and with his black spear he smote each Tree to its core, wounded them deep, and their sap poured forth as it were their blood, and was spilled upon the ground. But Ungoliant sucked it up, and going then from Tree to Tree she set her black beak to their wounds, till they were drained; and the poison of Death that was in her went into their tissues and withered them, root, branch, and leaf; and they died. And still she thirsted, and going to the Wells of Varda she drank them dry; but Ungoliant belched forth black vapours as she drank, and swelled to a shape so vast and hideous that Melkor was afraid.”

“The dragon is witheredHis bones are now crumbled;His armour is shivered,His splendour is humbled!Though sword shall be rustedAnd throne and crown perishWith strength that men trustedAnd wealth that they cherish,Here grass is still growing,And leaves are yet swinging,The white water flowing,And elves are yet singingCome! Tra-la-la-lally!Come back to the Valley!The stars are far brighterThan gems without measure,The moon is far whiterThan silver in treasure:The fire is more shiningOn hearth in the gloamingThan gold won by mining,So why go a-roaming?O! Tra-la-la-lallyCome back to the Valley!O! Where are you going,So late in returning?The river is flowing,The stars are all burning!O! Wither so laden,So sad and so dreary?Here elf and elf-maidenNow welcome the wearyWith Tra-la-la-lallyCome back to the Valley,Tra-la-la-lallyFa-la-la-lallyFa-la!”

“Let this be the hour when we draw swords together. Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn. Forth, Eorlingas!”

“I don't deny it," said Frodo, looking at Sam, who was now grinning. "I don't deny it, but I'll never believe you are sleeping again, whether you snore or not. I shall kick you hard to make sure.”

“Mind your P's and Q's.”

“It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name. All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of his eyes, and ancient as if they had endured for ever. He saw no colour but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made names for them new and wonderful. In winter here no heart could mourn for summer or for spring. No blemish or sickness or deformity could be seen in anything that grew upon the earth. On the land of Lorien there was no stain.”