Ford Prefect

Arthur Dent: — We can talk about normality till the cows come home.
Ford Prefect: — What is normal?
Trillian: — What's home?
Zaphod Beeblebrox: — What are cows?
Arthur Dent: — A proper cup of tea would restore my normality.

They can't think, they can't imagine. Most of them can't even spell. They just run things.

Time is an illusion. Lunchtime, doubly so.

It's a tough galaxy. If you want to survive out here, you've... gotta know where your towel is.

Presidents don't have power. Their job is to draw attention away from it.

— Do you really think the world's going to end?
— Yes.
— Shouldn't we lie down, or put a paper bag over our heads, or something?
— If you like.
— Will it help?
— Not at all.

— So this is it. We're gonna die.
— Yeah, we're gonna die. No, no, what's this?
— What's that? What's this?
— What's this? This is nothing. Yeah, we're gonna die.

— Greetings. This is a recorded announcement as we are all out at the moment. The Commercial Council of Magrathea thanks you for your esteemed visit, but regrets that the entire planet
is temporarily closed. If you would like to leave your name and a planet where you can be contacted, kindly do so at the tone.
— How can a planet be closed?
— Zarkin' A, cousin. Okay, computer, keep going. Take us down.
— I'd be happy to.
— It is most gratifying that your enthusiasm for our planet continues unabated. As a token of our appreciation, we hope you will enjoy the two thermo-nuclear missiles we've just sent
to converge with your craft. To ensure on-going quality of service, your death may be monitored for training purposes. Thank you.
— Guys, I'm delighted to tell you that there are two thermo-nuclear missiles heading right for us.