O! Wanderers in the shadowed land depair not! For though dark they stand, all woods there be must end at last, and see the open sun go past: the setting sun, the rising sun, the day's end, or the day begun. For east or west all woods must fail...

Cold be hand and heart and bone, and cold be sleep under stone: never more to wake on stony bed, never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead. In the black wind the stars shall die, and still on gold here let them lie, till the dark lord lifts his hand over dead sea and withered land.

The door closed and darkness claimed the room.

It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not.

The whole thing is quite hopeless, so it's no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won't come.

Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the darkness fall.