“All right,” said Ford, “I’ll try to explain. How long have we known each other?” “How long?” Arthur thought. “Er, about five years, maybe six,” he said. “Most of it seemed to make some sense at the time.”
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The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
And no sneaky knocking down Mr. Dent's house whilst he's away, alright?
And no sneaky knocking down Mr. Dent's house whilst he's away, alright?
Ford Prefect
“Are you telling me,” he said, “that you set yourself up to become President of the Galaxy just to steal that ship?” “That’s it,” said Zaphod with the sort of grin that would get most people locked away in a room with soft walls.
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Arthur glanced around him once more, and then down at himself, at the sweaty disheveled clothes he had been lying in the mud in on Thursday morning. “I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle,” he muttered to himself.
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Arthur stared into his beer. "Did I do anything wrong today," he said, "or has the world always been like this and I've been too wrapped up in myself to notice?"
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As soon as Mr. Prosser realized that he was substantially the loser after all, it was as if a weight lifted itself off his shoulders: this was more like the world as he knew it.
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Earthmen are not proud of their ancestors, and never invite them round to dinner.
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Er, excuse me, who am I? Hello? Why am I here? What's my purpose in life? What do I mean by who am I?
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"Ford!" he said, "there's an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for Hamlet they've worked out!"
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“Ford,” he said. “you’re turning into a penguin. Stop it.”
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If there's anything more important than my ego around, I want it caught and shot now.
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"I refuse to prove that I exist", says God "for proves denies faith and without faith I am nothing".
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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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"It's at times like this, when I'm stuck in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelegeuse about to die of asphyxiation in deep space, that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was little"
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Life, said Marvin dolefully, "loathe it or ignore it, you can't like it."
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Look, said Arthur, "would it save you a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?"
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“My God,” complained Arthur, “you’re talking about a positive mental attitude and you haven’t even had your planet demolished today.”
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“Myself I’d trust him to the end of the Earth,” said Ford. “Oh yes,” said Arthur, “and how far’s that?” “About twelve minutes away,” said Ford, “come on, I need a drink.”
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Oh God, muttered Ford, slumped against a bulkhead and started to count to ten. He was desperately worried that one day sentient life forms would forget how to do this. Only by counting could humans demonstrate their independence of computers.
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Only six people in the Galaxy knew that the job of the Galactic President was not to wield power but to attract attention away from it. Zaphod Beeblebrox was amazingly good at his job.
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Sorry, did I say something wrong? said Marvin, dragging himself on regardless. "Pardon me for breathing, which I never do anyway so I don't know why I bother to say it, oh God I'm so depressed. Here's another of those self-satisfied doors. Life! Don't talk to me about life."
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"Space," it says, "is big. Really big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mindbogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist, but that's just peanuts to space. Listen..." and so on.
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Talking to yourself is a sign of impending mental collapse.
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The Encyclopedia Galactica defines a robot as a mechanical apparatus designed to do the work of a man. The marketing division of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation defines a robot as "Your Plastic Pal Who's Fun To Be With."
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[The Guide] says that the effect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.
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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.
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"This must be Thursday," said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer, "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."
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"Who said anything about panicking?" snapped Arthur. "This is still just the culture shock. You wait till I've settled down into the situation and found my bearings. Then I'll start panicking."
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“You’d better be prepared for the jump into hyperspace. It’s unpleasantly like being drunk.” “What’s so unpleasant about being drunk?” “You ask a glass of water.”
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Zaphod Beeblebrox, adventurer, ex-hippy, good timer, (crook? quite possibly), manic self-publicist, terribly bad at personal relationships, often thought to be completely out to lunch.
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“Zaphod! Wake up!” “Mmmmmwwwwwerrrrr?” “Hey come on, wake up.” “Just let me stick to what I’m good at, yeah?” muttered Zaphod and rolled away from the voice back to sleep.
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Don't Panic.
The Guide's cover inscription
So long, and thanks for all the fish.
The dolphins' farewell to humanity, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.
Ford Prefect
The Answer to the Great Question of Life, the Universe and Everything is... forty-two.
Deep Thought
The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.
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A towel is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have.
The Guide on towels, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Many were increasingly of the opinion that they'd all made a big mistake in coming down from the trees in the first place.
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Beware of the Leopard.
Arthur Dent
Resistance is useless!
A Vogon guard, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy