“Why? Why do the fools fly?' said Denethor. 'Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must. Go back to your bonfire! And I? I will go now to my pyre. To my pyre! No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No tomb! No long slow sleep of death embalmed. We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship sailed hither from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!”

“Bilbo’s Last SongDay is ended, dim my eyes,But journey long before me lies.Farewell, friends! I hear the call.The ship's beside the stony wall.Foam is white and waves are grey;Beyond the sunset leads my way.Foam is salt, the wind is free;I hear the rising of the Sea.Farewell, friends! The sails are set,The wind is east, the moorings fret.Shadows long before me lie,Beneath the ever-bending sky,But islands lie behind the SunThat I shall raise ere all is done;Lands there are to west of West,Where night is quiet and sleep is rest.Guided by the Lonely Star,Beyond the utmost harbour-bar,I’ll find the heavens fair and free,And beaches of the Starlit Sea.Ship, my ship! I seek the West,And fields and mountains ever blest.Farewell to Middle-earth at last.I see the Star above my mast!”

“Stir not the bitterness in the cup that I mixed for myself,' said Denethor. 'Have I not tasted it now many nights upon my tongue, foreboding that worse lay in the dregs?”

“Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,' he said slowly, 'likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now at least the last march of the Ents may be worth a song.”

“I will vouch for him before the seat of Denethor,' said Gandalf. 'And as for valour, that cannot be computed by stature. He has passed through more battles and perils than you have, Ingold, though you be twice his height; and he comes now from the storming of Isengard, of which we bear tidings, and great weariness is on him, or I would wake him. His name is Peregrin, a very valiant man.' Man?' said Ingold dubiously; and the others laughed. Man!' cried Pippin, now thoroughly roused. 'Man! Indeed not! I am a hobbit and no more valiant than I am a man, save perhaps now and again by necessity. Do not let Gandalf deceive you!”

“Why O why did I ever leave my hobbit-hole?" said poor Mr. Baggins, bumping up and down on Bombur's back.”

“Arrow! Black arrow! I have saved you to the last. You have never failed me and I have always recovered you. I had you from my father and he from of old. If ever you came from the forges of the true king under the Mountain, go now and speed well!”