Best Quotes from The Giver by Lois Lowry with Page Numbers

The freedom to choose where to spend those hours had always seemed a wonderful luxury to Jonas.

With guidance, as they developed self-confidence and maturity, they moved on to other jobs, gravitating toward those that would suit their own interests and skills.

He realized that not focusing on one area meant he was left with not the slightest idea — not even a guess — of what his Assignment would be.

It was a nuisance to keep oneself covered while changing for games, and the required apology if one had by mistake glimpsed another’s body was always awkward.

He liked the feeling of safety here in this warm and quiet room; he liked the expression of trust on the woman’s face as she lay in the water unprotected, exposed, and free.

Some of the tellings are a little boring. I’ve even seen some of the Old fall asleep during tellings.

But Roberto’s life was wonderful... he had been an Instructor of Elevens —you know how important that is.

You should have seen the look on his face when they let him go.

Pure happiness, I’d call it.

They should enlarge the Releasing Room.

“The wanting,” he said. “I knew that she wouldn’t. And I think I knew that she shouldn’t. But I wanted it so terribly. I could feel the wanting all through me.”

“It happens to everyone. It happened to Father when he was your age. And it happened to me. It will happen someday to Lily.

“Do I have to report it?” he asked his mother.

“You did, in the dream-telling. That’s enough.”

“No, no,” she said. “It’s just the pills. You’re ready for the pills, that’s all. That’s the treatment for Stirrings.”

“But you mustn’t forget. I’ll remind you for the first weeks, but then you must do it on your own. If you forget, the Stirrings will come back.”

“The dream had felt pleasurable. Though the feelings were confused, he thought that he had liked the feelings that his mother had called Stirrings.”

“For a moment, though, he remembered the dream again.”

“The details aren’t clear, really,” Jonas explained, trying to recreate the odd dream in his mind.

“And very often,” Mother added, “it begins with a dream.”

"There are good things each year."

"The front-buttoned jacket was the first sign of independence."

"... moving gradually out into the community, away from the protective family unit."

"It wasn't at all hard to spot the Nurturers' section at the front; coming from it were the wails and howls of the newchildren."

"Even Jonas, though he didn't hover over the little one the way Lily and his father did, was glad that Gabe had not been released."

"The community was extraordinarily safe, each citizen watchful and protective of all children."

"Loss of a child was very, very rare."

"Even the Matching of Spouses was given such weighty consideration."

"He only wished that the midday break would conclude, that the audience would reenter the Auditorium, and the suspense would end."

"Jonas watched and cheered as Lily marched proudly to the stage."

This is the time when we acknowledge differences.

The differences have determined your futures.

You Elevens have spent all your years learning to fit in, to standardize your behavior, to curb any impulse that might set you apart from the group.

It is your differences that will determine your Assignments.

Thank you for your childhood.

We even gave a little thought to some retroactive chastisement for the one who had been Asher's Instructor of Threes so long ago.

Jonas shifted in his seat, trying to recognize each reference as one of his group-mates.

Each announcement was lengthy, accompanied by a speech directed at the new Twelve.

Age would no longer matter. He would be an adult.

Sometimes parents used them in irritation at a child's misbehavior, indicating that mischief made one unworthy of a name.

"I know that you are all concerned. That you feel I have made a mistake."

"I have caused you anxiety," she said. "I apologize to my community."

"Such a selection is very, very rare."

"Sometimes we worry that the one assigned might not develop, through training, every attribute necessary."

"But the Receiver-in-training cannot be observed, cannot be modified."

"If, during the process, an Elder reports a dream of uncertainty, that dream has the power to set a candidate aside instantly."

"He has shown all of the qualities that a Receiver must have."

"The training required of you involves pain. Physical pain."

"Yes, you have scraped your knees in falls from your bicycle. Yes, you crushed your finger in a door last year."

"Perhaps Jonas will, because the current Receiver has told us that Jonas already has this quality. He calls it the Capacity to See Beyond."

"I think it's true," he told the Chief Elder and the community. "I don't understand it yet. I don't know what it is. But sometimes I see something. And maybe it's beyond."

"Jonas," she said, speaking not to him alone but to the entire community, "you will be trained to be our next Receiver of Memory. We thank you for your childhood."

His heart swelled with gratitude and pride.

Now, for the first time in his twelve years of life, Jonas felt separate, different.

You've been greatly honored," his mother said. "Your father and I are very proud."

This is different. It's not a job, really. I never thought, never expected—"

A name designated Not-to-Be-Spoken indicated the highest degree of disgrace.

You've been greatly honored, Jonas. Greatly honored."

The exemption from rudeness startled him.

The pill he took now, each morning, was also unrelated to training. So he would continue to receive the pill.

"Welcome, Receiver of Memory."

"Beginning today, this moment, at least to me, you are The Receiver."

"There is nothing dangerous here."

"We have hard and painful work to do, you and I."

"My job is important and has enormous honor."

"It's the memories of the whole world, before you, before me, before the previous Receiver, and generations before him."

"There's much more. There's all that goes beyond — all that is Elsewhere — and all that goes back, and back, and back."

"It is how wisdom comes. And how we shape our future."

"It's as if ... It's like going downhill through deep snow on a sled."

"This will not be painful."

"All I gave you was one ride, on one sled, in one snow, on one hill. I have a whole world of them in my memory."

"I have great honor. So will you. But you will find that that is not the same as power."

"So do I. But that choice is not ours."

"It will be painful. But it need not be painful yet."

"I started you with memories of pleasure. My previous failure gave me the wisdom to do that."

"It hurt a lot, but I’m glad you gave it to me. It was interesting."

"I think I could steer, by pulling the rope. I didn't try this time, because it was so new."

"You receive well, and learn quickly. I’m very pleased with you."

"I wish we had those things, still. Just now and then."

"Lie quietly now. Since we've entered into the topic of climate, let me give you something else."

"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."

"School seemed a little different today."

"How could you describe a sled without describing a hill and snow; and how could you describe a hill and snow to someone who had never felt height or wind or that feathery, magical cold?"

"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you about it."

"It's your memory, now. It's not mine to experience any longer. I gave it away."

"When you mentioned Fiona's hair, it was the clue that told me you were probably beginning to see the color red."

"It was so — oh, I wish language were more precise! The red was so beautiful!"

"We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others."

"You've come very quickly to that conclusion. You've not only seen beyond, but you've listened and taken a stand."

"If everything's the same, then there aren't any choices! I want to wake up in the morning and decide things!"

"It's the choosing that's important, isn't it?"

"Not safe?" The Giver suggested.

"Definitely not safe," Jonas said with certainty.

"Very frightening. I can't even imagine it."

"You do understand, don't you, that this is my life? The memories?"

"Nothing?" Jonas whispered nervously.

"It's just that... without the memories it's all meaningless."

"And next it will be you. A great honor."

"Let me think," he went on, when Jonas was on the bed, waiting, a little fearful.

"It gives us wisdom," The Giver replied.

"May I have relief-of-pain, please?" he begged.

"They have never known pain," he thought.

"Is something wrong, Jonas?" his father asked at the evening meal.

"It will hurt terribly," The Giver agreed.

"But why can't everyone have the memories?"

"Please," he gasped, "take some of the pain."

"I'll come back tomorrow, sir," he said quickly.

"Unless maybe there's something I can do to help."

Jonas braced himself and entered the memory which was torturing The Giver.

The colors of the carnage were grotesquely bright: the crimson wetness on the rough and dusty fabric.

"Water," the voice said in a parched, croaking whisper.

He was silent.

The boy sighed.

Jonas felt it move.

He extended his arm slowly across the blood-soaked earth.

"Forgive me."

"There are so many good memories."

"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."

"I liked the feeling of love."

"I wish we still had that."

"Trust the memories and how they make you feel."

"It had all been there, all the things he had learned to treasure."

"It seems to work pretty well that way, doesn’t it? The way we do it in our community?"

"There could be colors. And grandparents."

"There could be love."

He knew he couldn't go back to the world of no feelings that he had lived in so long.

He saw all of the light and color and history it contained and carried in its slow-moving water.

Somehow they were not at all the same as the feelings that every evening...every citizen analyzed with endless talk.

These were deeper and they did not need to be told. They were felt.

Jonas stood alone in the center of the field.

He was struggling not to cry.

But he knew that they could not understand why, without the memories.

With his new, heightened feelings, he was overwhelmed by sadness.

Jonas sighed. It was no use. Of course Asher couldn't understand.

His childhood, his friendships, his carefree sense of security — all of these things seemed to be slipping away.

"I feel it for you, too."

"I was so devastated by my own grief at her loss, and my own feeling of failure, that I didn't even try to help them through it. I was angry, too."

"Memories are forever."

"You can understand, then, that that's what I felt for Rosemary," The Giver explained. "I loved her."

"Her training began. She received well, as you do. She was so enthusiastic. So delighted to experience new things."

"I gave her happy memories: a ride on a merry-go-round; a kitten to play with; a picnic."

"It broke my heart, Jonas, to transfer pain to her. But it was my job. It was what I had to do, the way I've had to do it to you."

"If you floated off in the river, I suppose I could help the whole community the way I've helped you."

"But everything changed, once she knew about pain."

"They wouldn't know how to deal with it at all."

"I wish they wouldn't do that."

"You can watch."

"You will be the new Receiver. You can read the books; you'll have the memories. You have access to everything."

"All private ceremonies are recorded."

"I know, I know. It hurts, little guy. But I have to use a vein, and the veins in your arms are still too teeny-weeny."

"All done. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Bye-bye, little guy."

"I don't know about bravery: what it is, what it means."

"I sat here numb with horror. Wretched with helplessness."

"You were wondering about release."

"Listen to me, Jonas. They can't help it. They know nothing."

"The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared."

"It's true that it has been this way for what seems forever. But the memories tell us that it has not always been."

"You have the colors," The Giver told him. "And you have the courage. I will help you to have the strength."

"I want you to come, Giver," Jonas pleaded. "No. I have to stay here," The Giver said firmly.

"If you escape, once you are gone — and, Jonas, you know that you can never return — " Jonas nodded solemnly.

"And in any case, Jonas," The Giver sighed, "I wouldn't make it. I'm very weakened now. Do you know that I no longer see colors?"

"When your memories return, they'll need help. Remember how I helped you in the beginning, when the receiving of memories was new to you?"

"And now they will ... But if you come with me — " The Giver shook his head and made a gesture to silence him.

"It was possible, what they had planned. Barely possible. If it failed, he would very likely be killed. But what did that matter? If he stayed, his life was no longer worth living."

"My work will be finished, when I have helped the community to change and become whole."

"I'm grateful to you, Jonas, because without you I would never have figured out a way to bring about the change."

"When my work here is finished, I want to be with my daughter."

"For the first time in their long months together, Jonas saw him look truly happy."

"It would work. They could make it work, Jonas told himself again and again throughout the day."

"There was no time to receive the memories he and The Giver had counted on, of strength and courage. So he relied on what he had, and hoped it would be enough."

"We certainly gave it our best try, didn’t we?"

"There was no time. Every minute counted now, and every minute must take him farther from the community."

"He knew that he had the remaining hours of night before they would be aware of his escape."

"Together the fugitives slept through the first dangerous day."

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.

During his twelve years in the community, he had never felt such simple moments of exquisite happiness.

He was newly aware that Gabriel's safety depended entirely upon his own continued strength.

The most relentless of his new fears was that they would starve.

Now he was. If he had stayed in the community, he would never know this hunger.

He slowed the bike again and again to look with wonder at wildflowers, to enjoy the throaty warble of a new bird nearby.

Their lives had been so controlled and sterile, and now they were alive.

The road was narrower, and bumpy, apparently no longer tended by road crews.

Frustrated, he threw rocks into the water, knowing even as he did so that it was useless.

He remembered his life in the community where meals were delivered to each dwelling every day.

Once he had yearned for choice. Then, when he had had a choice, he had made the wrong one: the choice to leave.

If he had stayed, he would have lived a life hungry for feelings, for color, for love.

He no longer cared about himself.

He felt it: felt that Elsewhere was not far away.

He had come this far. He must try to go on.

Did he still have the strength to Give? Could Gabriel still Receive?

But the moment passed and was followed by an urge, a need, a passionate yearning to share the warmth.

His spirits and strength lifted with the momentary warmth and he stood.

There was nothing left to do but continue.

But somewhere ahead, through the blinding storm, he knew there was warmth and light.