The cold rain continued to fall. He remembered, suddenly, how Jean’s hair curled and framed her face when it was damp. In contrast to the horrible stench that was growing stronger by the minute, he re...
The books in his own dwelling were the only books that Jonas had ever seen. He had never known that other books existed. But this room’s walls were completely covered by bookcases, filled, which reach...
The God of Thunder has fallen into the milk pail!
She was willing to give you everything she had. And you took it from her. You took her youth, and her beauty, and her energy and her health- For a moment, think of his mother, Gabe couldn't continue s...
She married, surprisingly, her stepbrother Tim, who, as predicted, became an attorney. The
Release was not the same as Loss.
Now, seeing the newchild and its expression, he was reminded that the light eyes were not only a rarity but gave the one who had them a certain look—what was it? Depth, he decided; as if one were look...
Jonas looked down through the dusk at the little head against his chest. Gabriel’s curly hair was matted and filthy, and there were tearstains outlined in dirt on his pale cheeks. His eyes were closed...
If he had stayed, he would have starved in other ways.
Gay!' he chirped. 'Gay!' It was the way he said his own name.
But there was nothing left to do but continue
But their shoulders were as straight as they had been in the past: in the classroom, on the stage, at the Sabbath table. So there were other sources, too, of pride, and they had not left everything be...
Back and back and back. Jonas repeated the familiar phrase. Sometimes it had seemed humorous to him. Sometimes it had seemed meaningful and important. Now it was ominous. It meant, he knew, that nothi...
And he could see as well that they had not yet approached the worst of it.
All of it was new to him. After a life of Sameness and predictability, he was awed by the surprises that lay beyond each curve of the road.
A man who had, as an adult, fled the cult in which he had been raised, told me that his psychiatrist had recommended The Giver to him.
A book, to me, is almost sacrosanct: such an individual and private thing. The reader brings his or her own history and beliefs and concerns, and reads in solitude, creating each scene from his own im...
An urge, a need, a passionate yearning to share the warmth with the one person left for him to love.
They were artists, the three of them. Makers of song, of wood, of threaded patterns. Because they were artists, they had some value that she could not comprehend. Because of that value, the three of t...
The history of Denmark has much to teach us all.