O harpy Love-rule, murd'rous Hag; / Whither doſt thou blind Mortals drag! / 'Tis thou to Battle eggeſt Kings / As well as Louts to Wreſtling-rings; […]

[…] theists and philosophers have been frenetically pounding the heaveless breast of God in a desperate session of panicked CPR.

It is a great moment even for a great artist when he can sit and sigh in solitary satisfaction before a finished picture. I had looked at it while I was waiting for dinner, and even in that empty hour it had seemed masterly; so that now, … I expected to feel in it that which surpasses the merely masterly of talent (to which degree of excellence ordinary painters, undowered by the divine afflatus, may attain by eminent industry) and approaches the superb – ecstatic.

Yossarian went along in Milo Minderbinder's speeding M & M staff car to police headquarters to meet a swarthy, untidy police commissioner with a narrow black mustache and unbuttoned tunic who was fiddling with a stout woman with warts and two chins when they entered his office and who greeted Milo with warm surprise and bowed and scraped in obscene servility as though Milo were some elegant marquis.