More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt, and his only mission each time he went up was to come down alive.
Even among men lacking all distinction he inevitably stood out as a man lacking more distinction than all the rest, and people who met him were always impressed by how unimpressive he was.
He advocated thrift and hard work and disapproved of loose women who turned him down.
Major Major’s father had a Calvinist’s faith in predestination and could perceive distinctly how everyone’s misfortunes but his own were expressions of God’s will.
He was told that he should not kill, and he did not kill, until he got into the Army. Then he was told to kill, and he killed.
“Open your eyes, Clevinger. It doesn’t make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who’s dead.”
The maid in the lime-colored panties was a cheerful, fat, obliging woman in her mid-thirties with squashy thighs and swaying hams in lime-colored panties that she was always rolling off for any man who wanted her.
Yossarian was in love with the maid in the lime-colored panties because she seemed to be the only woman left he could make love to without falling in love with.
Nothing so wonderful as war had ever happened to them before; and they were afraid it might never happen to them again.
They couldn’t dominate Death inside the hospital, but they certainly made her behave. They had taught her manners. They couldn’t keep Death out, but while she was in she had to act like a lady.
What a colossal, immortal blunderer! When you consider the opportunity and power He had to really do a job, and then look at the stupid, ugly little mess He made of it instead, His sheer incompetence is almost staggering.
His talented roommate was obviously a person to be studied and emulated. During the night, his talented roommate died, and Yossarian decided that he had followed him far enough.
The two young lieutenants nodded lumpishly and gaped at each other in stunned and flaccid reluctance, each waiting for the other to initiate the procedure of taking Major Danby outside and shooting him. Neither had ever taken Major Danby outside and shot him before.
Imagine a man his age risking what little life he has left for something so absurd as a country.”
where McWatt and Doc Daneeka guided Yossarian inside to a chair and washed Snowden off him with cold wet balls of absorbent cotton.
The graveyard was yellow as hay and green as cooked cabbage.
Why couldn’t anybody understand that he was not really a freak but a normal, lonely adult trying to lead a normal, lonely adult life?
His insides turned at once to dry clay.
