To Yossarian, the idea of pennants as prizes was absurd. No money went with them, no class privileges. Like Olympic medals and tennis trophies, all they signified was that the owner had done something of no benefit to anyone more capably than everyone else.

When you consider the opportunity and power He had to really do a job, and then look at the stupid, ugly little mess He made of it instead, His sheer incompetence is almost staggering.

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.

Well then I'd certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?

I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.

It doesn't make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who's dead.

...[A]nything worth dying for ... is certainly worth living for.