Bilbo: My dear Bagginses and Boffins... Tooks and Brandybucks... Grubbs, Chubbs... Hornblowers... Bolgers... Bracegirdles... and Proudfoots.
Bilbo: Today is my 111th birthday! But alas, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable Hobbits. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. I, uh... I have things to do. I've put this off far too long. I regret to announce this is the end! I'm going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Goodbye.
(Puts on the ring and disappears...)
Frodo: Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of.
Frodo: Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected.
Gandalf: If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved. All I did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door.
Frodo: Whatever you did, you've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace.
(Bilbo is writing a book...)
Bilbo: There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale. By Bilbo Baggins. Now... where to begin? Ah, yes... "Concerning... Hobbits." Hobbits have been living and farming in the four Farthings of the Shire for many hundreds of years quite content to ignore and be ignored by the world of the Big Folk. Middle-earth being, after all, full of strange creatures beyond count Hobbits must seem of little importance being neither renowned as great warriors nor counted among the very wise. (laughs) In fact, it has been remarked by some that Hobbits' only real passion is for food. A rather unfair observation as we have also developed a keen interest in the brewing of ales and the smoking of pipe-weed. But where our hearts truly lie is in peace and quiet and good, tilled earth. For all Hobbits share a love of things that grow. And, yes, no doubt to others, our ways seem quaint. But today of all days, it is brought home to me: It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.
And so life in the Shire goes on very much as it has this past Age full of its own comings and goings, with change coming slowly. If it comes at all. For things are made to endure in the Shire passing from one generation to the next. There's always been a Baggins living here under the Hill in Bag End. And always will be.
Galadriel: (I amar prestar aen.) The world is changed. (Han matho ne nen.) I feel it in the water. (Han mathon ned chae.) I feel it in the earth. (A han noston ned 'wilith.) I smell it in the air.
Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it. It began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf-Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. Deep in the land of Mordor, in the Fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged a master ring, and into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life.
One ring to rule them all.