“How do you feel Yossarian?""Fine. No, I'm very frightened.""That's good," said Major Danby. "It proves you're still alive. It won't be fun."Yossarian started out. "Yes it will.”

“From now on I'm thinking only of me."Major Danby replied indulgently with a superior smile: "But, Yossarian, suppose everyone felt that way.""Then," said Yossarian, "I'd certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?”

“Last night in the latrine. Didn't you whisper that we couldn't punish you to that other dirty son of a bitch we don't like? What's his name?""Yossarian, sir," Lieutenant Scheisskopf said."Yes, Yossarian. That's right. Yossarian. Yossarian? Is that his name? Yossarian? What the hell kind of a name is Yossarian?"Lieutenant Scheisskopf had the facts at his finger tips. "It's Yossarian's name, sir," he explained.”

“...'You haven't got a chance kid,' he had told him glumly. 'They hate Jews.' 'But I'm not Jewish,' answered Clevinger. 'It will make no difference,' Yossarian promised, and Yossarian was right. 'They're after everybody.”

“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.”

“Sure, that's what I mean,' Doc Daneeka said. 'A little grease is what makes this world go round. One hand washes the other. Know what I mean? You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.'Yossarian knew what he meant.That's not what I meant,' Doc Daneeka said, as Yossarian began scratching his back.”