Because of fear, they made shelter and found food and grew things. For the same reason, weapons were stored, waiting.

Mama was crying, and the rain made it seem as if the whole world was crying.

His mind reeled. Now, empowered to ask questions of utmost rudeness-and promised answers-he could, conceivably (though it was almost unimaginable), ask someone, some adult, his father perhaps: "Do you lie?" But he would have no way of knowing if the answer he received was true.

Gabe?" The newchild stirred slightly in his sleep. Jonas looked over at him. "There could be love", Jonas whispered.

She fell asleep, and it was a sleep as thin as the night clouds, dotted with dreams that came and went like the stars.

I tend not to think about audience when I'm writing. Many people who read "The Giver" now have their own kids who are reading it. Even from the beginning, the book attracted an audience beyond a child audience.

I'm not terribly conversant with children's literature in general. I tend to read books for adults, being an adult.