[b]Joseph Heller
America is not going to be destroyed, he shouted passionately.
Never? prodded the old man softly. Well… Nately faltered.
The old man laughed indulgently, holding in check a deeper, more explosive delight. His goading remained gentle. Rome was destroyed, Greece was destroyed, Persia was destroyed, Spain was destroyed. All great countries are destroyed. Why not yours? How much longer do you really think your own country will last? Forever? Keep in mind that the earth itself is destined to be destroyed by the sun in twenty-five million years or so.
Nately squirmed uncomfortably. Well, forever is a long time, I guess.[/b]
Indeed, and Don Trump makes it all the more imaginable.
Little by little, or maybe all at once, everything comes to mean its opposite; unreason argues itself into reason, and vice versa, and we cannot see the seams.
It’s almost as though he’s been here.
Clevinger was one of those people with lots of intelligence and no brains, and everyone knew it except those who soon found it out.
Or: Clevinger was one of those people with lots of brains and no intelligence, and everyone knew it except those who soon found it out.
A distant warm look entered Major Danby’s eyes. It must be nice to live like a vegetable, he conceded wistfully.
It’s lousy, answered Yossarian.
No, it must be very pleasant to be free from all this doubt and pressure, insisted Major Danby. I think I’d like to live like a vegetable and make no important decisions.
What kind of vegetable, Danby?
A cucumber or a carrot.
What kind of a cucumber? A good one or a bad one?
Oh, a good one, of course.
They’d cut you off in your prime and slice you up for a salad.
Major Danby’s face fell. A poor one, then.
They’d let you rot and use you for fertilizer to help the good ones grow.
I guess I don’t want to live like a vegetable, then, said Major Danby with a smile of sad resignation.
Works the same way with fruits.
Now, where were we? Read me back the last line.
‘Read me back the last line,’ read back the corporal who could take shorthand.
A smartass, right?
Well, maybe it’s true,’ Clevinger conceded unwillingly in a subdued tone. 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?
I do, Dunbar told him.
Why? Clevinger asked.
What else is there?
You tell me.