...[a]nything Worth Dying For ... Is Certainly

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.

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.

But The God I Don't Believe In Is A Good God, A Just God, A Merciful God. He's Not The Mean And Stupid God You Make Him Out To Be.

When I Grow Up I Want To Be A Little Boy.

Every Writer I Know Has Trouble Writing.