Well, He Died. You Don't

I Don't Understand The Process Of Imagination-though I Know That I Am Very Much At Its Mercy.

History Did Not Demand Yossarian's Premature Demise, Justice Could Be Satisfied Without It, Progress Did Not Hinge Upon It, Victory Did Not Depend On It. That Men Would Die Was A Matter Of Necessity; Which Men Would Die, Though, Was A Matter Of Circumstance, And Yossarian Was Willing To Be The Victim Of Anything But Circumstance. But That Was War. Just About All He Could Find In Its Favor Was That It Paid Well And Liberated Children From The Pernicious Influence Of Their Parents.

Something Did Happen To Me Somewhere That Robbed Me Of Confidence And Courage And Left Me With A Fear Of Discovery And Change And A Positive Dread Of Everything Unknown That May Occur.

They Couldn't Keep Death Out, But While She Was In She Had To Act Like A Lady.

It Was Miraculous. It Was Almost No Trick At All, He Saw, To Turn Vice Into Virtue And Slander Into Truth, Impotence Into Abstinence, Arrogance Into Humility, Plunder Into Philanthropy, Thievery Into Honor, Blasphemy Into Wisdom, Brutality Into Patriotism, And Sadism Into Justice. Anybody Could Do It; It Required No Brains At All. It Merely Required No Character.