I Can't Start Writing Until I Have

He Was Sick With Lust And Mesmerized With Regret

The Captain Was A Good Chess Player, And The Games Were Always Interesting. Yossarian Had Stopped Playing Chess With Him Because The Games Were So Interesting They Were Foolish.

Who's They?" He Wanted To Know. "who, Specifically, Do You Think Is Trying To Murder You?" "every One Of Them," Yossarian Told Him. "every One Of Whom?" "every One Of Whom Do You Think?" "i Haven't Any Idea." "then How Do You Know They Aren't?" "because..." Clevinger Sputtered, And Turned Speechless With Frustration. Clevinger Really Thought He Was Right, But Yossarian Had Proof, Because Strangers He Didn't Know Shot At Him With Cannons Every Time He Flew Up Into The Air To Drop Bombs On Them, And It Wasn't Funny At All.

But How Can One Be Warm Alone?

It Doesn't Make A Damned Bit Of Difference Who Wins The War To Someone Who's Dead.