I Think I've Written 40 Books, And

The Community Of The Giver Had Achieved At Such Great Price. A Community Without Danger Or Pain. But Also, A Community Without Music, Color Or Art. And Books.

Always In The Dream, It Seemed As If There Were A Destination: A Something--he Could Not Grasp What-that Lay Beyond The Place Where The Thickness Of Snow Brought The Sled To A Stop. He Was Left, Upon Awakening, With The Feeling That He Wanted, Even Somehow Needed, To Reach The Something That Waited In The Distance. The Feeling That It Was Good. That It Was Welcoming. That It Was Significant. But He Did Not Know How To Get There.

So Many Of My Books, I Don't Want To Say They Have Messages, But They Have Important Things To Say.

It Be Better, I Think, To Climb Out In Search Of Something, Instead Of Hating, What You're Leaving.

People Do Things That Turn Out Badly, Often For The Most Benevolent Of Reasons.