Douglas Noel Adams (11 March 1952 – 11 May 2001) was an English author, scriptwriter, essayist, humorist, satirist and dramatist.
Gordon Way's astonishment at being suddenly shot dead was nothing compared to his astonishment at what happened next.
Trillian had come to suspect that the main reason [Zaphood] had had such a wild and successful life was that he never really understood the significance of anything he did.
The dew has fallen with a particularly sickening thud this morning.
Structural linguistics is a bitterly divided and unhappy profession, and a large number of its practitioners spend many nights drowning their sorrows in Ouisghian Zodahs.
The Electric Monk was a labour-saving device, like a dishwasher or a video recorder. . . Electric Monks believed things for you, thus saving you what was becoming an increasingly onerous task, that of believing all the things the world expected you to believe.
So long, and thanks for all the fish.
My absolute favourite piece of information is the fact that young sloths are so inept that they frequently grab their own arms and legs instead of tree limbs, and fall out of trees.
In the center lay the exploded carcass of a lonely sperm whale that hadn't lived long enough to be disappointed with its lot.
The difference between us and a computer is that, the computer is blindingly stupid, but it is capable of being stupid many, many million times a second.
Presidents don't have power. Their job is to draw attention away from it.
Six pints of bitter, said Ford Prefect. And quickly please, the world's about to end.
Ford carried on counting quietly. This is about the most aggressive thing you can do to a computer, the equivalent of going up to a human being and saying "Blood. . . blood. . . blood. . . blood. . .
The only thing nicer than a phone that didn't ring all the time (or indeed at all) was six phones that didn't ring all the time (or indeed at all).
Humans are not proud of their ancestors, and rarely invite them round to dinner.
He was a dreamer, a thinker, a speculative philosopher. . . or, as his wife would have it, an idiot.
Believe me, it is a great deal better to find cast-iron proof that you're innocent than to languish in a cell hoping that the police---who already think you're guilty---will find it for you.
One day old Thrashbarg said that Almighty Bob had declared that he, Thrashbarg, was to have first pick of the sandwiches. The villagers asked him when this had happened, exactly, and Thrashbarg said it had happened yesterday, when they weren't looking. 'Have faith,' Old Thrashbarg said, 'or burn!' They let him have first pick of the sandwiches. It seemed easiest.
He has personality problems beyond the dreams of analysts.
"Does God know he [exists]?" "Of course he does. Otherwise, you could not have asked the question, and I could not have answered. "
I can see we're in for a fabulous evening's apocalypse.