Insanity Is Contagious.

Let's Take A Drive Into The Middle Of Nowhere With A Packet Of Marlboro Lights And Talk About Our Lives.

I'd Like To See The Government Get Out Of War Altogether And Leave The Whole Field To Private Individuals.

Yossarian Was Cold, Too, And Shivering Uncontrollably. He Felt Goose Pimples Clacking All Over Him As He Gazed Down Despondently At The Grim Secret Snowden Had Spilled All Over The Messy Floor. It Was Easy To Read The Message In His Entrails. Man Was Matter, That Was Snowden's Secret. Drop Him Out A Window And He'll Fall. Set Fire To Him And He'll Burn. Bury Him And He'll Rot, Like Other Kinds Of Garbage. The Spirit Gone, Man Is Garbage. That Was Snowden's Secret. Ripeness Was All. I'm Cold,' Snowden Said. 'i'm Cold.

It Was Miraculous. It Was Almost No Trick At All, He Saw, To Turn Vice Into Virtue And Slander Into Truth, Impotence Into Abstinence, Arrogance Into Humility, Plunder Into Philanthropy, Thievery Into Honor, Blasphemy Into Wisdom, Brutality Into Patriotism, And Sadism Into Justice. Anybody Could Do It; It Required No Brains At All. It Merely Required No Character.

He Found Luciana Sitting Alone At A Table In The Allied Officers' Night Club, Where The Drunken Anzac Major Who Had Brought Her There Had Been Stupid Enough To Desert Her For The Ribald Company Of Some Singing Comrades At The Bar. "all Right, I'll Dance With You," She Said, Before Yossarian Could Even Speak. "but I Won't Let You Sleep With Me." "who Asked You?" Yossarian Asked Her. "you Don't Want To Sleep With Me?" She Exclaimed With Surprise. "i Don't Want To Dance With You.