The Promises Of Maniacs, Like Those Of

In Short, Clevinger Was One Of Those People With Lots Of Intelligence And No Brains, And Everyone Knew It Except Those Who Soon Found It Out.

Who's They?" He Wanted To Know. "who, Specifically, Do You Think Is Trying To Murder You?" "every One Of Them," Yossarian Told Him. "every One Of Whom?" "every One Of Whom Do You Think?" "i Haven't Any Idea." "then How Do You Know They Aren't?" "because..." Clevinger Sputtered, And Turned Speechless With Frustration. Clevinger Really Thought He Was Right, But Yossarian Had Proof, Because Strangers He Didn't Know Shot At Him With Cannons Every Time He Flew Up Into The Air To Drop Bombs On Them, And It Wasn't Funny At All.

The Smartest People In Washington Are The Political Reporters. They Write About Their Inferiors.

Actually There Were Many Officers' Clubs That Yossarian Had Not Helped Build, But He Was Proudest Of The One On Pianosa. It Was A Sturdy And Complex Monument To His Powers Of Determination. Yossarian Never Went There To Help Until It Was Finished; Then He Went There Often, So Pleased Was He With The Large , Fine, Rambling Shingled Building. It Was A Truly Splendid Building, And Yossarian Throbbed With A Mighty Sense Of Accomplishment Each Time He Gazed At It And Reflected That None Of The Work That Had Gone Into It Was His.

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