“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.”

“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.”

“Man was matter. Drop him out of 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.”

“I’m cold,' Snowden said softly, 'I’m cold.''You’re going to be all right, kid,' Yossarian reassured him with a grin. 'You’re going to be all right.''I’m cold,' Snowden said again in a frail, childlike voice. 'I’m cold.''There, there,' Yossarian said, because he did not know what else to say. 'There, there.''I’m cold,' Snowden whimpered. 'I’m cold.''There, there. There, there.”

“where are the snowdens of yesteryear?”

“Who is Spain?Why is Hitler?Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?”

“The dead man in Yossarian's tent was a pest, and Yossarian didn't like him, even though he had never seen him. Having him laying around all day annoyed Yossarian so much that he had gone to the orderly room several times to complain to Sergeant Towser, who refused to admit that the dead man even existed, which, of course, he no longer did.”