Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles.
Look, I know you doubt me, I know you always have. And you’re right… I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. See, that’s where I belong, that’s home. That’s why I came back… ‘cause you don’t have one, a home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.