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Is that robot yours? he said.
“No,” came a thin metallic voice from the crater, “I’m mine.”
“If you’d call it a robot,” muttered Arthur. “It’s more a sort of electronic sulking machine.”
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More from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
“Ford,” he said. “you’re turning into a penguin. Stop it.”
And no sneaky knocking down Mr. Dent’s house whilst he’s away, alright?
The suns blazed into the pitch of space and a low ghostly music floated through the bridge: Marvin was humming ironically because he hated humans so much.
If there’s anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.
[Arthur Dent] was about thirty as well, dark haired and never quite at ease with himself. The thing that used to worry him most was the fact that people always used to ask him what he was looking so worried about. He worked in local radio which he always used to tell his friends was a lot more interesting than they probably thought. It was, too – most of his friends worked in advertising.