How the sausage is made...

Sergeant. No funny business! Where are your papers?

Mother Courage. Here, Sergeant! Here's a Bible—I picked it up someplace to wrap my cucumbers in. Here's a map of Moravia—God knows if I'll ever get there. And here's a document saying my horse hasn't got hoof and mouth disease—pity he died on us, he cost fifteen gilders, thank God I didn't pay it. Is that enough paper?

Sergeant. Are you pulling my leg? Well, you've got another guess coming. You need a license and you know it.

Mother Courage. Show a little respect for a lady and don't go telling these growing children of mine I'm pulling anything of yours. What would I want with you? My license in the Second Protestant Regiment is my honest face. If you can't read it, don't blame me.

Recruiting Officer. We have a case of insubordination on our hands, my dear Sergeant. Know what we need in the army? Discipline!

Mother Courage. I was going to say sausages.
From Bertold Brecht's Mother Courage and Her Children: A Chronicle of the 30 Years War (adaptation for Broadway).