
The Giver

Now it was ominous. It meant, he knew, that nothing could be changed.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
They have never known pain, he thought.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
He found that he was often angry, now: irrationally angry at his groupmates, that they were satisfied with their lives which had none of the vibrance his own was taking on. And he was angry at himself, that he could not change that for them.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
But the reason for precision of language was to ensure that unintentional lies were never uttered.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
He had walked through woods, and sat at night beside a campfire. Although he had through the memories learned about the pain of loss and loneliness, now he gained, too, an understanding of solitude and its joy.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
He had been frightened then. The sense of his own community silent, waiting, had made his stomach churn. He had trembled.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
Lily’s feelings were always straightforward, fairly simple, usually easy to resolve. He guessed that his own had been, too, when he was a Seven.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
“But there are two of us now,” Jonas said eagerly. “Together we can think of something!” The Giver watched him with a wry smile.
Lois Lowry • The Giver
“It was so—oh, I wish language were more precise! The red was so beautiful!”