All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.
It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him; love is not enough to keep any of us alive.
I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair.
