I list on this page passages from Beren that echo more or less closely passages taken (with one exception) from The Silmarillion.

Volume 1:

“…over the death of the Trees; but beyond that point you will not go. Not one word will you say about your journey to this shore. Nor can I see what is happening in Aman: a shadow lies over that land, and extends far out over the sea; and I wonder at that greatly. Now why will you never tell me more?”
“Because those woes are past,” said Artanis, “and I wish to take what joy I can in the present, untroubled by memory.”
She came closer to Artanis and looked deep into her eyes. “It was said at the beginning that you Noldor came as messengers of the Valar. If none of you has confirmed this, at least not in my hearing, still, none of you has denied it either; but I, I can no longer believe it, even though in sooth you came in the very hour of our need.1 For none of you ever speak of the Valar, nor have your high lords brought any message to Thingol, whether from Manwë, or Ulmo, or even from Olwë the King’s brother, or any other of his folk that went over the sea. This gap in the reckoning has yawned now so wide that I can no longer ignore it, but must look for the truth within. So tell me, Artanis: for what cause were the Noldor driven forth as exiles from Aman? Also, what evil lies on the sons of Fëanor that they are so haughty and so fell? For I surely know evil when I see it writhing black before me. Now tell me. Do I not strike near the truth?”
“Near,” she said, “yet not in its centre. We were not driven forth, we came of our own will; although I will admit, against that of the Valar.”
Still the Nolda said nothing of the Oath, nor of the Kinslaying, nor of the burning of the ships at Losgar.
Melian said, “Much you have told me! Yet more I perceive, not yet told. You seek to draw a veil of darkness over the long road from Tirion, but I smell evil there, as well as grief.”
“Thingol should learn of these matters for his guidance.”
“Maybe,” she said, “but he will not learn them of me.”

Volume 5:

This is actually stolen from Ursula le Guin: “…the only purpose to foresight is to show the perfect uselessness of knowing answers to the wrong questions.”

Volume 6:

Lúthien’s song:

	“Ir Ithil ammen Eruchín,
	Menel-vîr síla díriel,
	Si loth a galadh lasto dîn!
	A Hîr Annûn gilthoniel,
	Le linnon im Tinúviel!”

Tinúviel he named her in his heart, that signifies Nightingale, daughter of twilight, since he knew no other name for her.
Like a star on a hill he saw her.
There came a time near dawn on the eve of spring, when the maid danced upon a green hill; and suddenly she began to sing. Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its high voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun beyond the walls of the world; and her song released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and where her feet had passed, the flowers sprang with the tender grass out of the cold earth.
“Tinúviel!” he cried, “Tinúviel!” and the woods echoed to the name. Then she halted in wonder, and fled no more.
…whether through bliss or grief not even the wisest could have said. He fell into an abyss of shadow, and waking he was as cold as stone, despite the morning sun, and his heart within him was barren and forsaken. He wandered then in his mind through cold lands, groping as one who is stricken with sudden blindness, who seeks with hands to grasp the vanished light.
Thereafter she met him often in the woods…
“Who are you that stumble into this realm, or creep in as a thief?”
“The son of Barahir, lord of Men. He is a mighty foe of our foes…”
“Let Beren speak!” said Thingol sternly. He turned back to the man. “Speak, Mortal. What think you to do here? Why have you left your own land to come to this, which is forbidden to such as you? And by what trick did you gain entry? Can you show reason why my power should not be laid on you in heavy punishment for your insolence and folly?”
The pride of the eldest house of Man returned to him.
“…not rock, nor steel, nor the powers of all the Elf-kingdoms in one; yea, not even the fires and torments of Morgoth himself shall keep me from the jewel of my heart’s desire. For your daughter Lúthien is the fairest and best thing God made.”
“…death thou hast earned, and shouldst surely find, had I not given my word, of which I now sorely repent. How dost thou dare? Thou mortal! Thou libertine, thou spy, thou baseborn thrall of Morgoth…”
“But I will not take from you the names of baseborn, nor spy, nor thrall!”
“I see the ring, son of Barahir,” he said, “and I perceive that you are proud, and deem yourself mighty. And it may be that you have some right to think so; it may be that my words to you, spoken in haste, were not quite just.” He smiled then, but his eyes remained hard. “Although a father’s deeds, you know, even had they been rendered to me, would not help you in your own suit.”
I too desire a treasure, a jewel of price; and this is guarded by rock, and by steel, and by Morgoth’s fires. Yet I hear you say these things do not dismay you. Very well then! Bring to me a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, and Lúthien’s hand is yours, if she wills it so. Then you shall have my jewel; and though the fate of Arda lie within the Silmarils, yet you shall hold me generous.”
All perceived that Thingol would thus save his oath, yet send Beren to his death in its despite; for they knew that not all the power of the Noldor, even before the Siege was broken, had availed even to see from afar the shining Silmarils of Fëanor. These were set in the Iron Crown, and treasured in Angband above all wealth; Balrogs were about them, and countless swords, and strong bars, and unassailable walls, and the dark majesty of Morgoth.
“…for footling price, it seems, do Elven-kings sell their daughters – for gew-gaws, and for gauds; more fitted to delight the jackdaw, I would have thought, than a prince of the Eldar. But if this be thy will, Elwë Grey-cloak, I will perform it; and that with celerity, that I may the swifter see again the face of her I love. I bid ye farewell, O mighty King and Queen, O nobles fair – farewell, but not goodbye. For ye have not looked your last upon Beren son of Barahir.”
“…it will go ill for you, whether Beren fails or succeeds. By your ‘famous solution’ you have doomed either your daughter, or yourself.”
“I am Beren son of Barahir, a friend of Felagund! I bid ye take me to the King!”
…kept unceasing watch. Each hill upon its borders was crowned with hidden towers, and through all its woods and meadows archers ranged with great stealth and craft.
“That Thingol desires your death is plain enough. The wily fool – woe to him should you cheat his hope! For the Silmarils are bound in an unholy oath, sworn of Fëanor their maker and his sons, and he that even names them in desire wakes a great power from slumber. The sons of Fëanor would lay all the Elf-kingdoms in ruin rather than suffer any other but themselves to win or possess a Silmaril; the Oath would drive them to it. Thingol has woken this oath, which should better have been left alone, and wrought with his words a doom which may go far wider than his purpose.”
“Celegorm and Curufin, of Fëanor’s sons, are dwelling now in my halls; and although I, Finarfin’s son, am King, they have won a strong power in the realm, and lead also many of their own people. They have shown friendship to me in every need, but I fear they will show you no mercy if your quest be told.”
Celegorm sprang forward from his place near the front of the crowd. Mounting the daïs, he drew his sword and held it high. The long blade flashed redly under the lantern light. Facing the crowd, he cried in a great voice, “Be he friend or foe, whether demon of Morgoth, or Elf, or child of Men, or any other living thing in Arda! Neither law, nor love, nor league of Hell, nor might of the Valar, nor any power of wizardry, shall defend him from the pursuing hate of Fëanor’s sons, if he take or find a Silmaril and keep it. For the Silmarils we alone claim, until the world ends!”
A vision of the fall of Nargothrond arose before their eyes; of fire in the halls, of blood spilled, of the wailing of women led into slavery. So great was the twisted knot of fear Curufin wrought in their hearts that never again until the time of Túrin1 would any Elf of that realm go into open battle; but with stealth and ambush, with wizardry and venomed dart, they pursued all strangers, forgetting the bonds of kinship. Thus they fell from the valour and freedom of the Elves of old, and their land was darkened.
[Finrod]…took from his head the silver crown of Nargothrond. He flung it clanging at his feet. “You oaths of faith to me you may break as you will,” he shouted, “but I will hold by my bond. If there be any of you upon whom the shadow of this curse has not yet fallen, stand by me now! Then perhaps I shall go forth not entirely as a beggar thrust from the gates.”
Edrahil bent and picked up the crown. “This should be kept safe, by a steward,” he said. “For you remain my King, and theirs too, whatever betide.”

Finrod’s battle of song with Gorthaur:

	He chanted a song of wizardry,
	Of piercing, opening, of treachery,
	Revealing, uncovering, betraying.
	Then sudden Felagund there swaying
	Sang in answer a song of staying,
	Resisting, battling against power,
	Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,
	And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;
	Of changing and of shifting shape
	Of snares eluded, broken traps,
	The prison opening, the chain that snaps.

	Backwards and forwards swayed their song.
	Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong
	The chanting swelled. Felagund fought,
	And all the magic and might he brought
	Of Elvenesse into his words.
	Softly in the gloom they heard the birds
	Singing afar in Nargothrond,
	The sighing of the Sea beyond,
	Beyond the western world, on sand,
	On sand of pearls in Elvenland.

	Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
	In Valinor, the red blood flowing
	Beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew
	The Foamriders, and stealing drew
	Their white ships with their white sails
	From lamplit havens. The wind wails,
	The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
	The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
	The captive sad in Angband mourn.
	Thunder rumbles, the fires blaze.

“I must go to my long rest in the halls across the Sea. I bid thee farewell…”
He died then, that great prince of Noldorin race, in the tower he had built himself. Thus did King Finrod Felagund, fairest and noblest of the house of Finwë, redeem his oath.

Beren’s song in Gorthaur’s dungeon:

	…it seemed he sang,
	and loud and fierce his chanting rang;
	old songs of battle in the North,
	of breathless deeds, of marching forth
	to dare uncounted odds and break
	great foes, and towers, and strong walls shake;
	and over all the silver fire
	that Men once named the Burning Briar.
	The Seven Stars that Varda set
	about the North, are burning yet,
	a light in darkness, hope in woe,
	the emblem vast of Morgoth’s foe.

…the Isle trembled, the wolves howled in their dens. It rose through the air and came through windows to Sauron’s ears. He sat up, electrified. This song he had heard in his dreams. He knew the singer, knew that it was the daughter of Melian who stood before his gate. The fame of the beauty of Lúthien and the wonder of her song had long gone forth from Doriath.
…he smiled. The thought came into his mind to capture this fay, and hand her to Morgoth, for surely great reward.
“Huan is there!”
“Your spirit will flee back quaking to your master, whereafter you will endure his scorn and fury, and why? Because you, Lieutenant of Angband, were brought to nothing by a maid and a dog. This shall you suffer, unless for one thing: that you yield to me the mastery of the Tower.”
…the stone remained inviolate, until all that land was changed and broken, and foundered under destroying seas. But Finrod walks with Finarfin his father beneath the trees of Eldamar.
A clamour arose that no words of Celegorm could still. The lies and the treachery of the brothers, being now exposed, were cried in all the streets. The people lamented bitterly the fall of Felagund their King, and repented also of their own faint hearts, exclaiming that a slender maid had faced peril where no other had dared to go.
…neither bread nor rest shall ye find more within the whole realm…
“Little love shall there be henceforth between my house and yours.”
“Let it be so!” said Celegorm, with a light of menace in his eyes, as he cast the cut ends of cord to the floor; but Curufin only smiled.
Evil days had fallen upon Doriath…
…for many ages he wandered in the East of the world, making lament beside dark waters for his lost Lúthien, most beautiful of all living things.
Then was Thingol’s counsel in doubt, for he had not the strength to assail the seven sons of Fëanor; but he sent messages to Himring, demanding their aid in the search for Lúthien, since Celegorm of their ilk had not returned her to the house of her father as manners and custom mandated, nor had he kept her in safety.
…purposing to ride him into the earth; but Curufin, riding to pass close to Lúthien, bent to snatch her from the path. Despite that he stood behind his brother in feats of arms, he was a cunning horseman…
That was the Leap of Beren…
In that hour the great hound forsook the service of Celegorm, and sprang upon him, such that his horse swerved aside, and would not approach Beren because of its terror of the snarling beast. Celegorm cursed both hound and horse, but Huan was unmoved.
…lifting the unhappy and still wheezing Curufin bodily above his head, he flung him from him in ignominy into the mud of the ditch. “Walk now back to your noble kinfolk,” he said, “who may perchance teach you to turn your valour to worthier use. Your horse I shall keep…”
…he limped to Celegorm, who took his brother up behind him on his horse. They made then as if to ride away, and Beren turned to go, taking no more heed of their words. But Curufin, filled with shame and malice, took the bow of Celegorm and shot back as they went; and in the bitterness of his envy and hatred, he aimed the arrow at Lúthien.
Beren sprang in front of Lúthien; the dart struck him in the breast, and smote him to the earth.
“Leave all dread and servitude, and run free on the green grass wherever you will.”
“From the shadow of death you can no longer save Lúthien, for by her love for you she is now subject to it. Your choice is thus: you can, if you will it, turn from your fate and lead her into exile, seeking peace in vain while your lives last. But if you will not deny your doom, then either Lúthien, being forsaken, must assuredly die alone; or you two must never more be parted, and hand in hand go to challenge the fate that lies jointly before you.”
“Not certain.”
…dark forms could be glimpsed, writhing like demented serpents.
Carrion fowl of who knew what corrupt and midnight race sat serried on the beetling walls, from where they cried into the dank air with fell voices that withered the soul.
“Thou woe-begotten spirit, fall now into dark oblivion, and forget for a while the pains of life. Sleep!”
The fires were out, all things were still. Angband slept.
Before they were aware of him, he saw them, and sprang into their path.
Lúthien was spent; she fell gasping to her knees. No more power could she call up. But Beren strode forth before her, and in his right hand he held aloft the Silmaril…
“Get you gone…”
…behind her in the depths of Angband the rumour grew of great wrath aroused. The hosts of Morgoth were awakened.
Thus the quest of the Silmaril was likely to have ended in ruin and despair; but at that hour, above the walls of the valley, three mighty birds appeared, flying northward with wings swifter than the wind. Among all birds and beasts the wandering and need of Beren had been noised, and Huan himself had bidden all things watch, that they might bring the man aid. High above the realm of Morgoth, Thorondor and his vassals soared; and seeing now the madness of the Wolf and Beren’s fall they came swiftly down, even as the powers of Angband were released from the toils of sleep.
Then they lifted up Lúthien and Beren from the earth and bore them aloft into the clouds. Below them sudden thunder rolled, lightnings leapt upwards, and the mountains quaked. Fire and smoke belched from Thangorodrim, and flaming bolts were hurled far abroad, falling ruinous upon the lands; and the Noldor in Hithlum trembled. But Thorondor took his way far above the earth, seeking the high roads of heaven, where the sun shines through the day unveiled and the moon walks amid the cloudless stars. Thus they passed swiftly over the plain of dusty death, and over the dark lands of Nightshade,
…the radiance of Gondolin the fair where Turgon dwelt. But she wept, for she thought that Beren would surely die; he spoke no word, nor opened his eyes, and knew thereafter nothing of the flight. And at last the eagles set them down on the borders of Doriath; and they were come to that same meadow whence Beren had stolen in despair and left Lúthien asleep.
There the eagles laid her at Beren’s side and returned to their high eyries in the peaks of the Crissaegrim. But Huan came to her, and together they tended Beren, even as before when she had healed him of the wound which Curufin gave to him. But this wound of the Wolf was evil and poisonous. Long Beren lay, fighting for his life. Although shielded from the bitter winter by Lúthien’s power, his spirit wandered on the dark borders of death, pursued with anguish from dream to dream. Then suddenly, when her hope was almost spent, he woke again, and looked up, seeing leaves against the sky; and he heard beneath the leaves, singing soft and slow beside him, Lúthien Tinúviel. And it was spring again.
…suffering was graven onto his face…
“The condition is fulfilled. I hold even now a Silmaril in my hand!”
“Show it to me!”
Beren sat before his throne on the left, and Lúthien on his right, and for an hour or more they told all the tale of the Quest, while all there listened and were filled with amazement. And it seemed to Thingol that this Man was unlike all other mortal Men, and among the great in Arda, and the love of Lúthien a thing new and strange; and he perceived at last that their doom might not be withstood by any power of the world.
…the Hunting of the Wolf; and of all pursuits of beasts whereof tales tell, perhaps only the battle of Túrin with the Worm Glaurung was more bound up with peril. To the chase went Huan the Hound of Valinor, and Beren One-Hand of the North; with them came Mablung of the Heavy Hand, and Beleg Strongbow, chief of Thingol’s march-wardens; and lastly King Thingol himself of Doriath…
…rode forth in the morning and passed over the river Esgalduin…
…like the horns of Oromë it boomed out, like the war-wrath of the Valar.
…the howls now given forth by Carcharoth as he thrashed under the remorseless grip of the hound echoed the hate of Morgoth. In his voice was a malice crueller than his own teeth of steel.
But when Mablung reached out to touch it, lo! The hand vanished into mist. The Silmaril lay there unveiled, and the light of it filled the shadows of the forest all about them. Then quickly and in fear Mablung took the great jewel, came back, and set it in Beren’s living hand; and Beren was aroused by the touch of the Silmaril. He found the King with his eyes, and held the jewel as high as his unsteady hand could reach towards him. As the King took the stone from him, the man whispered, “Now is the Quest achieved; and my doom full-wrought.” Thereafter he spoke no more.
Lúthien met them under Hirilorn. She laid her arms about Beren and kissed his cold face.
Unchanged, imperishable, Lúthien’s song of her unbearable loss is sung yet in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the two kindreds that were made by the One to dwell in Arda, the kingdom of the Earth amid the innumerable stars.
…she knew that a parting beyond the end of the world had come between them.
In time the desire of Thingol was achieved, and the greatest of the works of Elves and Dwarves were brought together and made one; and its beauty was sublime, for now the countless jewels of the Nauglamir did shining honour to the light of the Silmaril amidmost.
…with his last sight gazed upon a Silmaril…
…brought back in bitter grief to Melian the Queen.
…passing to the land of the Valar beyond the western seas, to muse upon her sorrows in the garden of Lórien from whence she came. With her going, the Girdle was withdrawn from Doriath, and Esgalduin the enchanted river spoke with a different voice. Doriath lay open to its enemies.
Ere long a great host came forth from Nogrod, and crossing over Gelion, marched westward through Beleriand.
In that time also a messenger came to them out of Doriath, telling of what had earlier befallen there.
But it is said that Lúthien wearing that necklace and that immortal jewel was the vision of greatest beauty and glory that has ever been outside the realm of Valinor; and for a little while the Land of the Dead that Live became like a vision of the land of the Valar, and no place has since been so fair, so fruitful, or so filled with light.
There came a night of autumn, and when it grew late, one came and smote upon the doors of Menelgroth.
The door-wards brought him to where Dior sat alone in his chamber, and there in silence the Elf gave to the King a coffer, and took his leave. But in that coffer lay the Necklace of the Dwarves, wherein was set the Silmaril; and Dior looking upon it knew it for a sign that Beren One-hand and Lúthien Tinúviel had died indeed, and gone where go the race of Men to a fate beyond the world.