Quotes About Yossarian

There was no established procedure for evasive action. All you needed was fear, and Yossarian had plenty of that, more fear than Orr or Hungry Joe, more fear even than Dunbar, who had resigned himself submissively to the idea that he must die someday

The Texan wanted everybody in the ward to be happy but Yossarian and Dunbar. He was really very sick.

Yossarian left money in the old woman's lap—it was odd how many wrongs leaving money seemed to right—and

It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian say the chaplain he fell madly in love with him.

Through the lavender gloom clouding the entrance of the operations tent, Yossarian glimpsed Chief White Halfoat, diligently embezzling whiskey rations, forging the signatures of nondrinkers and pouring off the alcohol with which he was poisoning himself into separate bottles rapidly in order to steal as much as he could before Captain Black roused himself with recollection and came hurrying over indolently to steal the rest himself.

The soldier who saw everything twice nodded weakly and sank back on his bed. Yossarian nodded weakly too, eyeing his talented roommate with great humility and admiration. He knew he was in the presence of a master. His talented roommate was obviously a person to be studied and emulated. During the night, his talented roommate died, and Yossarian decided that he had followed him far enough.

Yossarian!!!(?)!

There's nothing wrong with nightmares," Hungry Joe answered. "Everybody has nightmares." Yossarian thought he had him. "Every night?" he asked. "Why not every night?" Hungry Joe demanded. And suddenly it all made sense. Why not every night, indeed? It made sense to cry out in pain every night.

Dunbar was lying motionless on his back again with his eyes staring up at the ceiling like a doll's. He was working hard at increasing his life span. He did it by cultivating boredom. Dunbar was working so hard at increasing his life span that Yossarian thought he was dead.

Sweden?" he cried. "Orr!" cried the chaplain. "Orr?" cried Yossarian. "Sweden!" cried the chaplain, shaking his head up and down with gleeful rapture and prancing about uncontrollably from spot to spot in a grinning, delicious frenzy. "It's a miracle, I tell you! A miracle! I believe in God again. I really do. Washed ashore in Sweden after so many weeks at sea! It's a miracle.

Do we trust the idea of love, no matter how mad – from Don Quixote's love for the farm girl he renames Dulcinea del Toboso to Yossarian's love for the chaplain – because in the face of conformity, the madder the love, in some mysterious way the greater the commitment to freedom?

Yossarian knew that you had to be crazy to fly combat. But you couldn't fly combat if you were crazy. If you turned yourself in as crazy so that you couldn't fly combat that would clearly be the act of a sane person, so you couldn't really be crazy and you must fly combat. Yossarian knew all this and he recognized it as the "catch." It was Catch-22.