Vogon Kwaltz: Attention, people of Earth. I regret to inform you that in order to make way for the new hyperspace express route, your planet has been scheduled for demolition. Have a nice day.
Ford Prefect: [to an unbelievably giant lady] I've been stranded on a strange planet for a number of years, I haven't been avoiding you... You look great! You're doing well... You've grown!
Zaphod Beeblebrox: [about Ford Prefect] He shares three of the same mothers as me!
The Book: Trailers also normally employ a deep voice that sounds like a seven-foot-tall man who has been smoking cigarettes since childhood.
Marvin the Paranoid Android: I'm feeling very depressed.
The Book: [about movie trailers] Often this section is preceded by the words, 'In a world'...
[Earth is destroyed]
The Book: But sometimes not.
The Book: Vogon poetry is, without a doubt, the third worst poetry in the known galaxy. The second worst poetry is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent, entitled Ode to a Small Piece of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit One Midsummer Morning, four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobblng Council only survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. The very worst poetry in the galaxy was written by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England and was thankfully destroyed when the Earth was.
Ford Prefect: You've got to know where your towel is.
Zaphod Beeblebrox: I'm from another planet. Seriously!
[laughs]
Zaphod Beeblebrox: You want to see my spaceship?
