I've Come To Look Upon Death The

Men Went Mad And Were Rewarded With Medals.

Her Own Body Was Such A Familiar And Unremarkable Thing To Her That She Was Puzzled By The Convulsive Ecstasy Men Could Take From It, By The Intense And Amusing Need They Had Merely To Touch It, To Reach Out Urgently And Press It, Squeeze It, Pinch It, Rub It. She Did Not Understand Yossarian's Lust; But She Was Willing To Take Is Word For It.

Someone Had To Do Something Sometime. Every Victim Was A Culprit, Every Culprit A Victim, And Somebody Had To Stand Up Sometime To Try To Break The Lousy Chain Of Inherited Habit That Was Imperiling Them All.

Now You've Given Them Hope, And They're Unhappy. So The Blame Is All Yours.

Catch-22 Did Not Exist, He Was Positive Of That, But It Made No Difference. What Did Matter Was That Everyone Thought It Existed, And That Was Much Worse, For There Was No Object Or Text To Ridicule Or Refute, To Accuse, Criticize, Attack, Amend, Hate, Revile, Spit At, Rip To Shreds, Trample Upon Or Burn Up.