“End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.”

“PIPPIN: I didn't think it would end this way.GANDALF: End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.PIPPIN: What? Gandalf? See what?GANDALF: White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.PIPPIN: Well, that isn't so bad.GANDALF: No. No, it isn't.”

“End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path. One that we all must take.”

“I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.”

“The grey-rain curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

“Aragorn: Gentlemen! We do not stop 'til nightfall.Pippin: But what about breakfast?Aragorn: You've already had it.Pippin: We've had one, yes. But what about second breakfast?[Aragorn stares at him, then walks off.]Merry: Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip.Pippin: What about elevensies? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn't he?Merry: I wouldn't count on it Pip.”

“Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise.”