I see all of them. All the colors.
Where Is Mrs. Hirsch?
Jonas was careful about language.
He saw all of the light and colour and history it contained and carried in its slow-moving water; and he knew that there was an Elsewhere from which it came, and an Elsewhere to which it was going.
Don’t keep interrupting or I’ll never finish the story.
Mama, what is this?” she asked suddenly, reaching into the grass at the foot of the steps. Mama looked. She gasped. “Oh, my God,” she said. Annemarie picked it up. She recognized it now, knew what it was. It was the packet that Peter had given to Mr. Rosen. “Mr. Rosen tripped on the step, remember? It must have fallen from his pocket. We’ll have to save it and give it back to Peter.” Annemarie handed it to her mother. “Do you know what it is?
Friends will take care of them. That’s what friends do.
Sunkiausias dalykas Atminties Saugotojui yra ne skausmas. Sunkiausia, kad saugai prisiminimus vienas. Jais reikia dalintis.
It was so – oh, I wish language were more precise! The red was so beautiful!
Release was not the same as Loss.
There are so many good memories,” The Giver reminded Jonas. And it was true.
He thrust his tongue into his cheek, wrinkled his nose and creased his forehead. He made a chortling sound.
I will take care of that, sir. I will take care of that, sir,” Jonas mimicked in a cruel, sarcastic voice. “I will do whatever you like, sir”. I will kill people, sir. Old people? Small new born people? I’d be happy to kill them, sir. Thank you for your instructions, sir. How may I help y-” He couldn’t seem to stop.
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.
She kept lists of her favorite words.
If he had stayed, he would have starved in other ways. He would have lived a life hungry for feelings, for color, for love.
There were only two occasions of release which were not punishment. Release of the elderly, which was a time of celebration for a life well and fully lived; and release of a newchild, which always brought a sense of what-could-we-have-done. This was especially troubling for the Nurturers, like Father, who felt they had failed somehow. But it happened very rarely.
He didn’t want the memories, didn’t want the honour, didn’t want the wisdom, didn’t want the pain.
He had seen a birthday party, with one child singled out and celebrated on his day, so that now he understood the joy of being an individual, special and unique and proud.
The Giver hugged him. “I love you, Jonas,” he said. “But I have another place to go. When my work here is finished, I want to be with my daughter.
Things will be sacrificed; people will suffer. That is the way life works when we are human.