“Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?Oh they're taking him to prison for the color of his hair.”

“He was young and tall, his hair was the color of fresh corn, his fingers were as thick as cigars, and he had his clarinet with him.”

“The other package has pieces of dried stag stick. The pups like chewing on those.""What's a stag stick?" Meg asked, taking the packages.He stared at her for a moment. Then he put a fist below his belt and popped out a thumb."Oh," Meg said. "Oh.”

“I once saw a convict who had been twenty years in prison and was being released take leave of his fellow prisoners. There were men who remembered his first coming into prison, when he was young, careless, heedless of his crime and his punishment. He went out a grey-headed, elderly man, with a sad sullen face. He walked in silence through our six barrack-rooms. As he entered each room he prayed to the ikons, and then bowing low to his fellow prisoners he asked them not to remember evil against him.”

“(Jack ignored his greeting and slammed his fist straight into the jaw of the spy.)What did he do? Wear the wrong color coat? Or is it his stock you find offensive this time? (Morgan)”

“Oh, they're there all right," Orr had assured him about the flies in Appleby's eyes after Yossarian's fist fight in the officers' club, "although he probably doesn't even know it. That's why he can't see things as they really are." "How come he doesn't know it?" inquired Yossarian. "Because he's got flies in his eyes," Orr explained with exaggerated patience. "How can he see he's got flies in his eyes if he's got flies in his eyes?”