Trillian had come to suspect that the main reason he had had such a wild and successful life was that he never really understood the significance of anything he did.

Mr. L. Prosser was, as they say, only human. In other words he was a carbon-based bipedal life form descended from an ape. More specifically he was forty, fat and shabby and worked for the local council. Curiously enough, though he didn’t know it, he was also a direct male-line descendant of Genghis Khan, though intervening generations and racial

He attacked everything in life with a mixture of extraordinary genius and naive incompetence and it was often difficult to tell which was which.

He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.

He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.

Only six people in the Galaxy knew that the job of the Galactic President was not to wield power but to attract attention away from it.

“Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.”