Re-reading the Lord of the Rings, Chapter 41

There's a passing dreaminess in this chapter, but something else stays despite the fact that the watchtowers on the heights are very worldly, namely the dissolution of the will, the sense that one's persona is a matter of arbitrariness.

It is first brought about by the confusion of the sense of beauty and it sinks in through weariness, until the bareness itself asks of that, which has entered it.

It's not evil as such, just alien, and there might have even grown some good out of it, if the place would have been a little calmer and not so settled.

Man doesn't like to be mocked, but neither is he one who could not stand questions, and eventually his nature will emerge from doubt like a ridge of granite from the morning mist under the rising sun.

Almost something great had happened and Sméagol had imposed his will upon his actions, seeking peace instead of never ending torture, for Sméagol only has known The Ring long enough to know that It has nothing to offer him. But if Sméagol would be one disposed for such greatness, The Ring would have found greater use of him already.

It is of course not necessary to be mocked first, in order to start asking questions, but then again the world mocks the perceptive mind incessantly.