“You have a morbid aversion to dying. You probably resent the fact that you're at war and might get your head blown off any second.""I more than resent it, sir. I'm absolutely incensed.""You have deep-seated survival anxieties. And you don't like bigots, bullies, snobs, or hypocrites. Subconsciously there are many people you hate.""Consciously, sir, consciously," Yossarian corrected in an effort to help. "I hate them consciously.""You're antagonistic to the idea of being robbed, exploited, degraded, humiliated, or deceived. Misery depresses you. Ignorance depresses you. Persecution depresses you. Violence depresses you. Corruption depresses you. You know, it wouldn't surprise me if you're a manic-depressive!""Yes, sir. Perhaps I am.""Don't try to deny it.""I'm not denying it, sir," said Yossarian, pleased with the miraculous rapport that finally existed between them. "I agree with all you've said.”

“You have deep-seated survival anxieties. And you don't like bigots, bullies, snobs or hypocrites. Subconsciously there are many people you hate.""Consciously, sir, consciously," Yossarian corrected in an effort to help. "I hate them consciously.”

“Consciously, sir, consciously," Yossarian corrected in an effort to help. "I hate them consciously.”

“Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn't punish you?" said the corporal who could take shorthand reading from his steno pad."All right," said the colonel. "Just what the hell did you mean?""I didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir.""When," asked the colonel."When what, sir?""Now you're asking me questions again.""I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand your question.""When didn't you say we couldn't punish you? Don't you understand my question?""No, sir, I don't understand.""You've just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question.""But how can I answer it?""That's another question you're asking me.""I'm sorry, sir. But I don't know how to answer it. I never said you couldn't punish me.""Now you're telling us what you did say. I'm asking you to tell us when you didn't say it."Clevinger took a deep breath. "I always didn't say you couldn't punish me, sir.”

“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're manic-depressive and you're manic-depressive too and you, you're definitely manic-depressive, girl. And you over there in the corner, you're just plain fucking depressive.”

“They were the most depressing group of people Yossarian had ever been with. They were always in high spirits.”