I feel something. A slight tingle in my fingers. I think it’s affecting me.

There is a fell voice in the air.

Lembas! One bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man.

Do not think I won’t kill you, Dwarf! You would die before your strike fell.

This forest is very old. Full of memory and anger.

Our Fellowship stands in your debt, Haldir.

Something sits in the east. A sleepless malice.

The horses are restless and the men are quiet.

Gimli: Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an Elf. Legolas: How about side by side with a friend?

There lies the woods of Lothlorien! That is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people. There are not 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 …

Your friends are with you, Aragorn.

This is no ordinary Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.

Have you heard nothing about Lord Elrond has said? The ring must be destroyed.

That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell.

Five hundred times have the red leaves fallen in Mirkwood in my home since then, and but a little while does that seem to us.

It is old, very old. So old that I almost feel young again, as I have not felt since I travelled with you children. It is old and full of memory. I could have been happy here, if I had come in days of peace.

But I say : Let the ploughman plough, but choose an otter for swimming, and for running light over grass and leaf, or over snow – an Elf.

Shall I describe it to you? Or would you like me to find you a box?