The Writer After All Is Only Half

We Gained Control Of Many Things. But We Had To Let Go Of Others.

I Don't Know What She Is Now. A Stranger, Mostly. It's As If She Has Become A Part Of A Different World, One That Doesn't Include Me Anymore.

The Man That I Named The Giver Passed Along To The Boy Knowledge, History, Memories, Color, Pain, Laughter, Love, And Truth. Every Time You Place A Book In The Hands Of A Child, You Do The Same Thing. It Is Very Risky. But Each Time A Child Opens A Book, He Pushes Open The Gate That Separates Him From Elsewhere. It Gives Him Choices. It Gives Him Freedom. Those Are Magnificent, Wonderfully Unsafe Things. [from Her Newberry Award Acceptance Speech]

If Everyting's The Same, Then There Aren't Any Choices! I Want To Wake Up In The Morning And Decide Things!" (jonas) "it's The Choosing That's Imortant, Isn't It?" The Giver Asked Him.

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.