I created the Event Horizon to reach the stars, but she’s gone much, much farther than that. She tore a hole in our universe, a gateway to another dimension. A dimension of pure chaos.
And that’s… That’s chaos theory.
There is no fact, extrapolation of fact, or theory, by which it could be possible.
I was especially interested in the section on Arroway’s video unit. The one that recorded the static? The fact that it recorded static isn’t what interests me. What interests me is that it recorded approximately eighteen hours of it.
Nyx sold her womb somewhere between Punjai and Faleen, on the edge of the desert.
Drunk, but no longer bleeding, she pushed into a smoky cantina just after dark and ordered a pinch of morphine and a whiskey chaser. She bet all of her money on a boxer named Jaks, and lost it two rounds later when Jaks hit the floor like an antique harem girl.
It’s a COOKBOOK!
“The waiter approached.
‘Would you like to see the menu?’ he said. ‘Or would you like to meet the Dish of the Day?’
‘Huh?’ said Ford.
‘Huh?’ said Arthur.
‘Huh?’ said Trillian.
‘That’s cool,’ said Zaphod. 'We’ll meet the meat.”
He doesn’t know which of us I am these days, but they know one truth.
[SIZE=3]You will never amount to anything in the galaxy while you retain your propensity for vulgar facetiousness.[/SIZE]
I told you! You all say I’m paranoid, but it’s true: no one ever frelling listens to me!
The spice must flow.
He doesn’t know how to use the three seashells!
“You know,” said Arthur, “it’s at times like this, when I’m trapped in a Vogon airlock with a man from Betelgeuse, and about to die of asphyxiation in deep space that I really wish I’d listened to what my mother told me when I was young.”
“Why, what did she tell you?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t listen.”
In space, no one can hear you scream.
Well, that’s what we have in common: a hearing problem.
Boring conversation anyway. LUKE, WE’RE GONNA HAVE COMPANY!
"Look,” whispered Chuck, and George lifted his eyes to heaven. (There is always a last time for everything.)
Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.
The sky over the harbor was the color of a television tuned to a dead channel.
A niche in time saves Stein.
“Give my five heart to Maude, Dwayne. Dismember me for Harold’s choir.”