The Fellowship of the Ring (The Lord of the Rings, #1)

by J.R.R. Tolkien

You are an interfering old busybody,’ laughed Bilbo, ‘but I expect you know best, as usual.’ ‘I do – when I know anything.

They began to hum softly, as hobbits have a way of doing as they walk along, especially when they are drawing near to home at night. With most hobbits it is a supper-song or a bed-song; but these hobbits hummed a walking-song (though not, of course, without any mention of supper and bed).

‘I made that up myself,’ he whispered to Frodo, ‘for the Dúnadan, a long time ago when he first told me about himself. I almost wish that my adventures were not over, and that I could go with him when his day comes.’

For nothing is evil in the beginning. Even Sauron was not so.

An overwhelming longing to rest and remain at peace by Bilbo’s side in Rivendell filled all his heart. At last with an effort he spoke, and wondered to hear his own words, as if some other will was using his small voice. ‘I will take the Ring,’ he said, ‘though I do not know the way.’

The future, good or ill, was not forgotten, but ceased to have any power over the present. Health and hope grew strong in them, and they were content with each good day as it came, taking pleasure in every meal, and in every word and song.