Slaughterhouse-Five

Birds were talking. One bird said to Billy Pilgrim, “Poo-tee-weet?”

So it goes.

He tore himself to pieces, throwing up and throwing up. So it goes.

They were going to discuss whether the novel was dead or not. So it goes.

“If you’re ever in Cody, Wyoming,” he told himself, “just ask for Wild Bob.”

“If you’re ever in Cody, Wyoming,” I said to him lazily, “just ask for Wild Bob.”

ROBERT KENNEDY, whose summer home is eight miles from the home I live in all year round, was shot two nights ago. He died last night. So it goes. Martin Luther King was shot a month ago. He died, too. So it goes. And every day my Government gives me a count of corpses created by military science in Vietnam. So it goes. My father died many years ago

So it goes.

and so on.