I don't think the 'what' distinguishes a good novel from a bad one but rather the 'how.'

Her own body was such a familiar and unremarkable thing to her that she was puzzled by the convulsive ecstasy men could take from it, by the intense and amusing need they had merely to touch it, to reach out urgently and press it, squeeze it, pinch it, rub it. She did not understand Yossarian's lust; but she was willing to take is word for it.

I'd like to see the government get out of war altogether and leave the whole field to private individuals.

Death to all modifiers, he declared one day, and out of every letter that passed through his hands went every adverb and every adjective.

Catch-22 did not exist, he was positive of that, but it made no difference. What did matter was that everyone thought it existed, and that was much worse, for there was no object or text to ridicule or refute, to accuse, criticize, attack, amend, hate, revile, spit at, rip to shreds, trample upon or burn up.

Maybe a long life does have to be filled with many unpleasant conditions if it's to seem long. But in that event, who wants one?

The problem with the loneliness I suffer is that the company of others has never been a cure for it.