Ernest Hemingway

It was very late and everyone had left the hall except an old man who sat in the shadows the leaves of the old Mallorn made against the moonlight. The two elves inside the hall knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he usually was quiet and kept to himself they knew that if he became too drunk he would start setting things on fire, so they kept watch on him.

"He's drunk," one elf said.

"What do you care?"

"He's muttering about the secret fire."

"Leave him alone. He used to carry a ring."

"He'll stay all night. He should never have been rebodied."

The old man rapped on the table with his goblet. The younger elf went over to him.

"What do you want?"

The old man looked at him. "Another miruvor."

"You'll be drunk," the elf said. The old man looked at him. The elf went away.

"Look at his bushy eyebrows," he said to his colleague. "There is nothing as nasty as an old Man. He'll stay all night and I'll never get any sleep."

The elf took the bottle of miruvor from the counter inside the hall and marched to the old man's table. He poured the goblet full.

"You should never have been rebodied," he said to the old man. 

Gene Roddenberry

"The Halflings, cap'n, they will na take the strain"

"Strider, we've got to get out of this snow. Legolas, did you get a reading on that creature?"

"Fascinating, Captain. It appears to be an unknown creature that lurks in the pool waiting for passing strangers. Ecologically implausible, captain."

"Do you know what it is?"

"I believe I said it was unknown, Dr Gimli. Logically, if I knew what it was, then it wouldn't be unknown."

"Cap'n, we're in some sort of temporal warp, stretching and deforming the plot. The snow should take place a day before our encounter with this beastie."

"Captain, what are we going to do?"

"Boromir, put on that red armour."

"Cap'n, she can't hold much longer...."

Frank Herbert

Legolas allowed himself the luxury of allowing himself the luxury of a stray thought. What new treachery is this? he mused at the form coming slowly toward them through the world-haze. He reached out with senses sharpened by years of Elvish training. It looks like ... no! That cannot be! It must be a vision. Nazgul spies must have poisoned my lembas.

But the self within himself knew that his lembas was uncorrupted, that the vision that he saw now was not merely of a possible future but of an inevitable future. Yet still it strode closer, and closer, its pointed white hat contrasting sharply with the dull oceans of unbroken forestland and mountainrock behind it.

Galdalf lives!

"I am no longer Gandalf the Grey," the wizard intoned, his white stillrobes glistening in the day's heat. "Through the Trial of the Balrog I came close to death, but now the sleeper has awakened! I shall now be called ... Gandalf-Muad'Dib, the Mithrandir, the Lisan Al'Maia!"

for more:  http://www.astro.umd.edu/~pierce/lotrbyothers.html