(I)f the Rohirrim are grown in some ways more like to us, enhanced in arts and gentleness, we too have become more like to them, and can scarce claim any longer the title High. We are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things. For as the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts. Such is the need of our days ... we have changed, declining from Númenor to Middle-earth.
[ . . . ]
You have no need of soft words: I do not hope to see you again on any other day under this sun. But you shall go now with my blessing upon you, and upon all your people ... If ever beyond hope you return to the lands of the living and we re-tell our tales, sitting by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief, you shall tell me then (your tale of the One Ring). Until that time ... farewell!
-- Faramir, Captain of Gondor
(Two Towers - J. R. R. Tolkien)
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