Life, the Universe and Everything (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, #3)

by Douglas Adams

“It’s a strange thing,” said Arthur quietly, “that the farther and faster one travels across the Universe, the more one’s position in it seems to be largely immaterial, and one is filled with a profound, or rather emptied of a …” “Yes, very strange,” said Ford. “Where are we going?” “We are going,” said Slartibartfast, “to confront an ancient nightmare of the Universe.”

Bistromathics itself is simply a revolutionary new way of understanding the behavior of numbers. Just as Einstein observed that space was not an absolute but depended on the observer’s movement in space, and that time was not an absolute, but depended on the observer’s movement in time, so it is now realized that numbers are not absolute, but depend on the observer’s movement in restaurants.

Just as a slow series of clicks when speeded up will lose the definition of each individual click and gradually take on the quality of a sustained and rising tone, so a series of individual impressions here took on the quality of a sustained emotion—and yet not an emotion. If it was an emotion, it was a totally emotionless one. It was hatred, implacable hatred. It was cold, not like ice is cold, but like a wall is cold. It was impersonal, not like a randomly flung fist in a crowd is impersonal, but like a computer-issued parking summons is impersonal. And it was deadly, again, not like a bullet or a knife is deadly, but like a brick wall across an expressway is deadly.

“And then we must go,” said the robot, in all seriousness, “to a party.” “Oh,” said Zaphod, startled, “can I come?” “No,” said the robot, “we are going to shoot you.” “Oh, yeah?” said Zaphod, waggling his gun. “Yes,” said the robot, and they shot him. Zaphod was so surprised that they had to shoot him again before he fell down.

me, probably, if someone was pointing a gun at me

The Galaxy, which had been enjoying a period of unusual peace and prosperity at the time, reeled like a man getting mugged in a meadow.

what a metaphor

Ford turned his wild eyes on Arthur again. “They won’t let us in without a bottle,” he hissed.

that's so funny

The encircling flashlight beams were drooping slightly now as if they were abdicating to this strange, quiet girl who alone in this Universe of dark confusion seemed to know what she was doing.

she IS y/n!!!

Arthur quickly pointed out that he hadn’t deduced anything much himself, Trillian was the one. She had simply asked him along because he was interested in life, the Universe and everything.

perfect title drop