Хоббит и Властелин колец

In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring;
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there may be 'tis cloudless night
And swaying beeches bear
The Elven stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair.
Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Beyond all mountains steep,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And stars for ever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.

He would have welcomed a fight - with not too many enemies at a time - rather than this hideous brooding uncertainty.

No choice was left to them but to play their part to the end.

To waver is to fall.

Silver flow the streams from Celos to Erui
In the green fields of Lebennin!
Tall grows the grass there. In the wind from the Sea
The white lilies sway,
And the golden bells are shaken of mallos and alfirin
In the great fields of Lebennin,
In the wind from the Sea!

It is ever so with the things that Men begin: there is a frost in Spring, or a blight in Summer, and they fail of their promise.

When the black breath blows
And death' shadow grows
And all lights pass,
Come athelas! Come athelas!
Life to the dying
In the king's hand lying!

The hands of the kings are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.

Dead men are not friends to living men, and give them no gifts.

Let us remember that a traitor may betray himself and do good that he does not intend.