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Red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night.
It is old, very old. So old that almost I feel young again…
He stands not alone. You would die before your stroke fell.

There lie the woods of Lothlorien! That is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people. There are no trees like the trees of that land. For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold. Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers, and the floor of the wood is golden, and golden is the roof, and its pillars are of silver, for the bark of the trees is smooth and grey. So still our songs in Mirkwood say. My heart would be glad if I were beneath the eaves of that wood, and it were springtime! "

I am sorry, Frodo! So much has happened this day and we have such need of haste, that I have forgotten that you were hurt, Sam too. You should have spoken. We have done nothing to ease you, as we ought, though all the orcs or Moria were after us. Come now! A little further on there is a place where we can rest for a little. There I will do what I can for you. Come, Boromir! We will carry them.

A plague on Dwarves and their stiff necks! (after Gimli angrily refuses to be blindfolded on the way to Lothlorien which results in the whole Fellowship having to be blindfolded along with him.) Alas for the folly of these days! Here are the enemies of the one Enemy, and yet I must walk blind, while the sun is merry in the woodland under the leaves of gold!

Come, you shall sit beside me, friend Gimli, then all will be well, and you need neither borrow a horse nor be troubled by one.

It is hot in here. I feel a great wrath about me. Do you not feel the air throb in your ears?