Four times during the first six days they were assembled and briefed and then sent back. Once, they took off and were flying in formation when the control tower summoned them down. The more it rained, the worse they suffered. The worse they suffered, the more they prayed that it would continue raining. All through the night, men looked at the sky and were saddened by the stars. All through the day, they looked at the bomb line on the big, wobbling easel map of Italy that blew over in the wind and was dragged in under the awning of the intelligence tent every time the rain began. The bomb line was a scarlet band of narrow satin ribbon that delineated the forward most position of the Allied ground forces in every sector of the Italian mainland. For hours, they stared relentlessly at the scarlet ribbon on the map and hated it because it would not move up high enough to encompass the city. When night fell, they congregated in the darkness with flashlights, continuing their macabre vigil at the bomb line in brooding entreaty as though hoping to move the ribbon up by the collective weight of their sullen prayers. "I really can't believe it," Clinger exclaimed to Yossarian in a voice rising and falling in protest and wonder. "It's a complete reversion to primitive superstition. They're confusing cause and effect. It makes as much sense as knocking on wood or crossing your fingers. They really believe that we wouldn't have to fly that mission tomorrow if someone would only tiptoe up to the map in the middle of the night and move the bomb line over Bologna. Can you imagine? You and I must be the only rational ones left." In the middle of the night Yossarian knocked on wood, crossed his fingers, and tiptoed out of his tent to move the bomb line up over Bologna.

— Joseph Heller

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

— Joseph Heller

General Pecked even recommends that we send our men into combat in full-dress uniform so they'll make a good impression on the enemy when they're shot down".

— Joseph Heller

He found Luciana sitting alone at a table in the Allied officers' nightclub, where the drunken Anzac major who had brought her there had been stupid enough to desert her for the ribald company of some singing comrades at the bar." All right, I'll dance with you," she said, before Yossarian could even speak. "But I won't let you sleep with me."" Who asked you?" Yossarian asked her." You don't want to sleep with me?" she exclaimed with surprise." I don't want to dance with you.

— Joseph Heller

He had decided to live forever or die in the attempt...

— Joseph Heller

He was pinched pressingly in the epistemological dilemma of the skeptic, unable to accept solutions to problems he was unwilling to dismiss as unsolvable. He was never without misery, and never without hope.

— Joseph Heller

He woke up blinking with a slight pain in his head and opened his eyes upon a world boiling in chaos in which everything was in proper order.

— Joseph Heller

His heart cracked, and he fell in love. He wondered if she would marry him. “Tu set jazz,” she told him with a pleasant laugh. “Why am I crazy?” he asked. “Perch non posse spare.” “Why can’t you get married?” “Because I am not a virgin,” she answered. “What has that got to do with it?” “Who will marry me? No one wants a girl who is not a virgin.” “I will. I’ll marry you.” “Ma non posse sports.” “Why can’t you marry me?” “Perch set jazz.” “Why am I crazy?” “Perch duo sposarmi.” Yossarian wrinkled his forehead with quizzical amusement. “You won’t marry me because I’m crazy, and you say I’m crazy because I want to marry you? Is that right?” “Si.” “Tu set jazz’!” he told her loudly. “Perch?” she shouted back at him indignantly, her unavoidable round breasts rising and falling in a saucy huff beneath the pink chemise as she sat up in bed indignantly. “Why am I crazy?” “Because you won’t marry me.” “Stupid!” she shouted back at him, and smacked him loudly and flamboyantly on the chest with the back of her hand. “Non posse sports! Non capital? Non posse sports.” “Oh, sure, I understand. And why can’t you marry me?” “Perch set jazz!” “And why am I crazy?” “Perch duo sposarmi.” “Because I want to marry you. Carina, ti AMO,” he explained, and he drew her gently back down to the pillow. “Ti AMO motto.” “Tu set jazz,” she murmured in reply, flattered. “Perch?” “Because you say you love me. How can you love a girl who is not a virgin?” “Because I can’t marry you.” She bolted right up again in a threatening rage. “Why can’t you marry me?” she demanded, ready to clout him again if he gave an uncomplimentary reply. “Just because I am not a virgin?” “No, no, darling. Because you’re crazy.

— Joseph Heller

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.

— Joseph Heller

Hungry Joe was crazy, and no one knew it better than Yossarian, who did everything he could to help him. Hungry Joe just wouldn’t listen to Yossarian. Hungry Joe just wouldn’t listen because he thought Yossarian was crazy

— Joseph Heller