“These folk are hewers of trees and hunters of beasts; therefore we are their unfriends, and if they will not depart we shall afflict them in all ways that we can.”

“Shall we mourn here deedless forever a shadow-folk mist-haunting dropping vain tears in the thankless sea”

“He told them tales of bees and flowers, the ways of trees, and the strange creatures of the Forest, about the evil things and the good things, things friendly and things unfriendly, cruel things and kind things, and secrets hidden under brambles.”

“The king was silent. "Ents!" he said at length. "Out of the shadows of legend I begin a little to understand the marvel of the trees, I think. I have lived to see strange days. Long we have tended our beasts and our fields, built our houses, wrought our tools, or ridden away to help in the wars of Minas Tirith. And that we called the life of Men, the way of the world. We cared little for what lay beyond the borders of our land. Songs we have that tell of these things, but we are forgetting them, teaching them only to children, as a careless custom. And now the songs have come down among us out of the strange places, and walk visible under the Sun.""You should be glad," Théoden King," said Gandalf. "For not only the little life of Men is now endangered, but the life also of those thing which you have deemed the matter of legend. You are not without allies, even if you know them not.""Yet also I should be sad," said Théoden. "For however the fortune of war shall go, may it not so end that much that was fair and wonderful shall pass for ever out of Middle-earth?”

“We shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually — their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on — and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same — like old Mr Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?”

“What shall we do, what shall we do! Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves is like out of the frying pan and into the fire!”

“Upon the hearth the fire is red,Beneath the roof there is a bed;But not yet weary are our feet,Still round the corner we may meetA sudden tree or standing stoneThat none have seen but we alone.Tree and flower, leaf and grass,Let them pass! Let them pass!Hill and water under sky,Pass them by! Pass them by!Still round the corner there may waitA new road or a secret gate,And though we pass them by today,Tomorrow we may come this wayAnd take the hidden paths that runTowards the Moon or to the Sun.Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,Let them go! Let them go!Sand and stone and pool and dell,Fare you well! Fare you well!Home is behind, the world ahead,And there are many paths to treadThrough shadows to the edge of night,Until the stars are all alight.Then world behind and home ahead,We'll wander back to home and bed.Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,Away shall fade! Away shall fade!Fire and lamp and meat and bread,And then to bed! And then to bed!”