The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
by Douglas Adams
(London: Macmillan, 2009)
The idea for the title first cropped up while I was lying drunk in a field in Innsbruck, Austria, in 1971.
My pet project was to write something that would combine comedy and science fiction, and it was this obsession that drove me into deep debt and despair.
The Hitchhiker’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 ahs the words DON’T PANIC inscribed in large friendly letters on the cover.
Fifteen years was a long time to get stranded anywhere, particularly somewhere as mindboggingly dull as the Earth.
Ford Prefect was a roving researcher for that wholly remarkable book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
The best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.
“This must be Thursday … I never could get the hang of Thursdays.”
The contents of Ford Prefect’s satchel were quite interesting, in fat, and would have made any earth physicist’s eyes pop out of his head, which is why he always concealed them by keeping a couple of dog-eared scripts for plays he pretended he was auditioning for stuffed in the top.
In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny subliminal signal. This signal simple communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense of how far that being is from the place of his birth.
“I’ll have you hung, draws and quartered! And boiled … until … until … until you’ve had enough.”
The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.
One of the side effects of work on the Heart of Gold was a whole string of pretty meaningless coincidences.
Zaphod Beeblebrox, adventurer, ex-hippy, good-timer, (crooks? quite possibly), manic self-publicist, terribly bad at personal relationships, often thought to be completely out to lunch.
Only six people in the entire Galaxy understood the principle upon which the Galaxy was governed.
A Hooloovoo is a super-intelligent shade of the colour blue.