Aragorn: By nightfall these pants will be swarming with orcs!
Gandalf: The writing, which at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared, a secret now that only pants can tell.
Butterbur: Gandalf? Gandalf? Ohhh yes! I remember, elderly chap, big gray beard, pointy pants. Not seen him for six months.
Arwen: You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself. You are not bound to his pants.
Aragorn: The same blood flows in my pants. The same weakness.
Elrond: You have only one choice.... It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery pants from whence it came.
Gandalf: No Gimli, I would not take the roads through Moria unless I had no other pants.
Saruman: Do you know how orcs first came into being? They were pants once...
Aragorn: I swore an oath to protect you.
Frodo: Can you protect me from your pants?
Eomer (to Grima): Too long have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her pants.
Aragorn: It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the pants of men.
Frodo: What food do we have left?
Sam: Pants. And oh look...MORE pants!
Manathor: You know the laws of our country. The laws of your father. If you let them go, your pants will be forfeit.
Abedithon le,
~*~Aranel~*~