Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.

Six pints of bitter, said Ford Prefect. And quickly please, the world's about to end.

A life that is burdened with expectations is a heavy life. Its fruit is sorrow and disappointment.

You know," said Arthur, "it's at times like this, when I'm trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I'd listened to what my mother told me when I was young." "Why, what did she tell you?" "I don't know, I didn't listen.

I'm up to here with cool, okay? I am so amazingly cool you could keep a side of meat in me for a month. I am so hip I have difficulty seeing over my pelvis.

Even a manically depressed robot is better to talk to than nobody.

The great thing about being the only species that makes a distinction between right and wrong is that we can make up the rules for ourselves as we go along.