Conceited little mega-puppy.

I am rarely happier than when spending an entire day programming my computer.

In many of the more relaxed civilizations on the Outer Eastern Rim of the Galaxy, the Hitch-Hiker's Guide has already supplanted the great Encyclopaedia Galactica as the standard repository of all knowledge and wisdom, for though it has many omissions and contains much that is apocryphal, or at least wildly inaccurate, it scores over the older, more pedestrian work in two important respects. First, it is slightly cheaper; and secondly it has the words DON'T PANIC inscribed in large friendly letters on its cover.

It takes an awful lot of time to not write a book.

2,000 years ago one man got nailed to a tree for saying how great it would be if everyone was nice to each other for a change.

In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny subliminal signal.

The seat received him in a loose and distant kind of way, like an aunt who disapproves of the last fifteen years of your life and will therefore furnish you with a basic sherry, but refuses to catch your eye.