Arthur Dent Quotes

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.

Ford!" he said, "there's an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for Hamlet they've worked out.

Arthur Dent: What happens if I press this button? Ford Prefect: I wouldn't- Arthur Dent: Oh. Ford Prefect: What happened? Arthur Dent: A sign lit up, saying 'Please do not press this button again.

Arthur blinked at the screens and felt he was missing something important. Suddenly he realized what it was. "Is there any tea on this spaceship?" he asked.

But the plans were on display…” “On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them.” “That’s the display department.” “With a flashlight.” “Ah, well, the lights had probably gone.” “So had the stairs.” “But look, you found the notice, didn’t you?” “Yes,” said Arthur, “yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying ‘Beware of the Leopard.

I like the cover," he said. "Don't Panic. It's the first helpful or intelligible thing anybody's said to me all day.

Arthur felt happy. He was terribly pleased that the day was for once working out so much according to plan. Only twenty minutes ago he had decided he would go mad, and now here he was already chasing a Chesterfield sofa across the fields of prehistoric Earth.

Time is the worst place, so to speak, to get lost in, as Arthur Dent could testify, having been lost in both time and space a good deal. At least being lost in space kept you busy.

It comes from a very ancient democracy, you see..." "You mean, it comes from a world of lizards?" "No," said Ford, who by this time was a little more rational and coherent than he had been, having finally had the coffee forced down him, "nothing so simple. Nothing anything like so straightforward. On its world, the people are people. The leaders are lizards. The people hate the lizards and the lizards rule the people." "Odd," said Arthur, "I thought you said it was a democracy." "I did," said Ford. "It is." "So," said Arthur, hoping he wasn't sounding ridiculously obtuse, "why don't people get rid of the lizards?" "It honestly doesn't occur to them," said Ford. "They've all got the vote, so they all pretty much assume that the government they've voted in more or less approximates to the government they want." "You mean they actually vote for the lizards?" "Oh yes," said Ford with a shrug, "of course." "But," said Arthur, going for the big one again, "why?" "Because if they didn't vote for a lizard," said Ford, "the wrong lizard might get in. Got any gin?" "What?" "I said," said Ford, with an increasing air of urgency creeping into his voice, "have you got any gin?" "I'll look. Tell me about the lizards." Ford shrugged again. "Some people say that the lizards are the best thing that ever happenned to them," he said. "They're completely wrong of course, completely and utterly wrong, but someone's got to say it." "But that's terrible," said Arthur. "Listen, bud," said Ford, "if I had one Altairian dollar for every time I heard one bit of the Universe look at another bit of the Universe and say 'That's terrible' I wouldn't be sitting here like a lemon looking for a gin.

The only person for whom the house was in any way special was Arthur Dent, and that was only because it happened to be the one he lived in.

He actually caught himself saying things like "Yippee," as he pranced ridiculously round the house.

Marvin trudged on down the corridor, still moaning. "...and then of course I've got this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left hand side..." "No?" said Arthur grimly as he walked along beside him. "Really?" "Oh yes," said Marvin, "I mean I've asked for them to be replaced but no one ever listens." "I can imagine.

The regular early morning yell of horror was the sound of Arthur Dent waking up and suddenly remembering where he was

Why,” said Arthur Dent, “isn’t anyone ever pleased to see us?

This Arthur Dent," comes the cry from the furthest reaches of the galaxy, and has even now been found inscribed on a mysterious deep space probe thought to originate from an alien galaxy at a distance too hideous to contemplate, "what is he, man or mouse? Is he interested in nothing more than tea and the wider issues of life? Has he no spirit? has he no passion? Does he not, to put it in a nutshell, fuck?

All right," said Ford. "How would you react if I said that I'm not from Guildford at all, but from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse?" Arthur shrugged in a so-so sort of way. "I don't know," he said, taking a pull of beer. "Why, do you think it's the sort of thing you're likely to say?" Ford gave up. It really wasn't worth bothering at the moment, what with the world being about to end.

I wonder who this ship belongs to anyway," said Arthur. "Me," said Zaphod. "No. Who it really belongs to." "Really me," insisted Zaphod. "Look, property is theft, right? Therefore theft is property. Therefore this ship is mine, okay?

NO MUSE IS GOOD MUSE To be an Artist you need talent, as well as a wife who washes the socks and the children, and returns phone calls and library books and types. In other words, the reason there are so many more Men Geniuses than Women Geniuses is not Genius. It is because Hemingway never joined the P.T.A. And Arthur Rubinstein ignored Halloween. Do you think Portnoy's creator sits through children's theater matinees--on Saturdays? Or that Norman Mailer faced 'driver's ed' failure, chicken pox or chipped teeth? Fitzgerald's night was so tender because the fender his teen-ager dented happened when Papa was at a story conference. Since Picasso does the painting, Mrs. Picasso did the toilet training. And if Saul Bellow, National Book Award winner, invited thirty-three for Thanksgiving Day dinner, I'll bet he had help. I'm sure Henry Moore was never a Cub Scout leader, and Leonard Bernstein never instructed a tricycler On becoming a bicycler just before he conducted. Tell me again my anatomy is not necessarily my destiny, tell me my hang-up is a personal and not a universal quandary, and I'll tell you no muse is a good muse unless she also helps with the laundry.

I see", said Arthur Dent. He didn't.

Shaving mirror-pointing at the ceiling. He adjusted it. For a moment it reflected a second bulldozer through the bathroom window. Properly adjusted, it reflected Arthur Dent's bristles.

What have you done to it, Monkeyman? - he breathed. - Well, - said Arthur, - nothing in fact. It's just that I think a short while ago it was trying to work out how to... - Yes? - Make me some tea. - That's right guys, - the computer sang out suddenly, - just coping with that problem right now, and wow, it's a biggy. Be with you in a while." It lapsed back into a silence that was only matched for sheer intensity by the silence of the three people staring at Arthur Dent.

And at the end they traveled again. There was a time when Arthur Dent would not. He said that the Bistromathic Drive had revealed to him that time and distance were one, that mind and Universe were one, that perception and reality were one, and that the more one traveled the more one stayed in one place, and that what with one thing and another he would rather just stay put for a while and sort it all out in his mind, which was now at one with the Universe so it shouldn’t take too long and he could get a good rest afterward, put in a little flying practice and learn to cook, which he had always meant to do.

Come,’ called the old man, ‘come now or you will be late.’ ‘Late?’ said Arthur. ‘What for?’ ‘What is your name, human?’ ‘Dent. Arthur Dent,’ said Arthur. ‘Late, as in the late Dentarthurdent,’ said the old man, sternly. ‘It’s a sort of threat you see.

The first I knew about it was when a workman arrived at my home yesterday. I asked him if he'd come to clean the windows and he said no, he'd come to demolish the house. He didn't tell me straight away of course. Oh no. First he wiped a couple of windows and charged me a fiver. Then he told me." "But Mr. Dent, the plans have been available in the local planning office for the last nine months." "Oh yes, well, as soon as I heard I went straight round to see them, yesterday afternoon. You hadn't exactly gone out of your way to call attention to them, had you? I mean, like actually telling anybody or anything." "But the plans were on display..." "On display? I eventually had to go down to the cellar to find them." "That's the display department." "With a flashlight." "Ah, well, the lights had probably gone." "So had the stairs." "But look, you found the notice didn't you?" "Yes," said Arthur, "yes I did. It was on display in the bottom of a locked filing cabinet stuck in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the Leopard.

Arthur ekranlara bakıp gözlerini kırpıştırdı ve önemli bir şeyi kaçırıyormuş hissine kapıldı. Birden bunun ne olduğunu fark etti. "bu uzay gemisinde çay var mı?" diye sordu.

Properly adjusted, it reflected Arthur Dent’s bristles. He shaved them off, washed, dried, and stomped off to the kitchen to find something pleasant to put in his mouth.

Time is the worst place, so to speak, to get lost in, as Arthur Dent could testify, having been lost in both time and space a good deal. At least being lost in space kept you busy.

(who was arguing with a spokesman for the bulldozer drivers about whether or not Arthur Dent constituted a mental health hazard, and how much they should get paid if he did)

Arthur Dent, you are not merely a cruel and heartless man, you are also staggeringly tactless.

This must be Thursday, I could never get the hang of Thursdays.” Arthur Dent

Arthur Dent was grappling with his consciousness the way one grapples with a lost bar of soap in the bath.

At that moment the dull sound of a rumbling crash from outside filtered through the low murmur of the pub, through the sound of the jukebox, through the sound of the man next to Ford hiccuping over the whiskey Ford had eventually bought him. Arthur choked on his beer, leaped to his feet. "What's that?" he yelped. "Don't worry," said Ford, "they haven't started yet." "Thank God for that," said Arthur, and relaxed. "It's probably just your house being knocked down," said Ford, downing his last pint. "What?" shouted Arthur. Suddenly Ford's spell was broken. Arthur looked wildly around him and ran to the window. "My God, they are! They're knocking my house down. What the hell am I doing in the pub, Ford?" "It hardly makes any difference at this stage," said Ford, "let them have their fun.

Oh, hello, Arthur Dent here. Look, sorry I haven’t been in for six months but I’ve gone mad.” “Oh, not to worry. Thought it was probably something like that. Happens here all the time. How soon can we expect you?” “When do hedgehogs start hibernating?” “Sometime in spring, I think.” “I’ll be in shortly after that.” “Righty-ho.

On prehistoric Earth he had lived in a cave, not a nice cave, a lousy cave, but . . . There was no but. It had been a totally lousy cave and he had hated it. But he had lived in it for five years, which made it a home of some kind, and a person likes to keep track of his homes. Arthur Dent was such a person and so he went to Exeter to buy a computer.

When you’re young, and just emerging from the four walls of home into the wide world outside, that’s exactly when you feel so small, like Arthur Dent, all alone in the universe. That’s when you act as wildly two-headed as Zaphod. That’s when you really need someone to say ‘Don’t Panic’. It’s the perfect age to mutter a heartfelt ‘Oh no, not again,’ a phrase so much wiser than today’s ‘Whatever’.

Yes,” said Ford Prefect, “it’s dark.” “No light,” said Arthur Dent. “Dark, no light.” One of the things Ford Prefect had always found hardest to understand about humans was their habit of continually stating and repeating the very very obvious, as in It’s a nice day, or You’re very tall, or Oh dear you seem to have fallen down a thirty-foot well, are you all right? At first Ford had formed a theory to account for this strange behavior.

and the next day the parcel arrived. — This was all getting a bit eventful. In fact, when the parcel arrived, delivered by a kind of robot drone that dropped out of the sky making droning robot noises, it brought with it a sense, which gradually began to permeate through the whole village, that it was almost one event too many. It wasn’t the robot drone’s fault. All it required was Arthur Dent’s signature or thumbprint, or just a few scrapings of skin cells from the nape of his neck, and it would be on its way again. It hung around waiting, not quite sure what all this resentment was about.

No livro seguinte, a história é retomada cinco anos depois e é possível, afirmam alguns, exagerar na discrição. 'Esse tal de Arthur Dent', faz-se ouvir o grito provindo dos cantos mais longínquos da Galáxia, que agora foi até mesmo encontrado inscrito em uma misteriosa sonda espacial, supostamente originária de uma galáxia alienígena e vinda de uma distância demasiado horrorosa para sequer ser ponderada, 'o que é ele, um homem ou um rato? Será possível que não se interesse por nada além de chá e das questões mais amplas da existência? Não tem vigor? Não tem personalidade? Será que, em outras palavras, ele não trepa?'.

Questo Arthur Dent" gridano dalle più lontane aree della Galassia (e di recente si è scoperto che una simile domanda era addirittura scritta a chiare lettere su una misteriosa sonda dello spazio profondo che pare provenga da una galassia aliena situata in un luogo così spaventosamente lontano che la mente non può nemmeno concepirlo) "che cos'è, un uomo o un complessato? Non gli interessano altro che il tè e i problemi metafisici della vita? Non ha spirito? Non ha passioni? Per dirla in parole povere, non scopa mai?" Coloro che desiderano saperlo dovranno leggere i successivi capitolo. Gli altri sono liberi di saltarne un pò e arrivare all'ultimo, che è un bel capitolo dove si ritroverà il robot Marvin.

seconds later he was out of the house and lying in front of a big yellow bulldozer that was advancing up his garden path. 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 mixing had so juggled his genes that he had no discernible Mongoloid characteristics, and the only vestiges left in Mr. L. Prosser of his mighty ancestry were a pronounced stoutness about the tum and a predilection for little fur hats. He was by no means a great warrior; in fact he was a nervous, worried man. Today he was particularly nervous and worried because something had gone seriously wrong with his job, which was to see that Arthur Dent’s house got cleared out of the way before the day was out. “Come off it, Mr. Dent,” he said, “you can’t win, you know. You can’t lie in front of the bulldozer indefinitely.” He tried to make his eyes blaze fiercely but they just wouldn’t do it. Arthur lay in the mud and squelched at him. “I’m game,” he said, “we’ll see who rusts first.

A veneração que a grande massa culta reserva ao gênio é da mesma espécie da que os crentes dedicam aos seus santos, ou seja, degenera facilmente num culto pueril às relíquias. A casa de Petrarca em Arquà, a suposta prisão de Tasso em Ferrara, a casa de Shakespeare em Stratford com sua cadeira, a casa de Goethe em Weimar com sua mobília, o velho chapéu de Kant, bem como os respectivos autógrafos, são fitados com atenção e respeito por muitos que nunca leram suas obras, do mesmo modo como milhares de cristãos veneram as relíquias de um santo cuja vida e doutrina não chegaram a conhecer, e como a religião de milhares de budistas consiste muito mais na veneração a Dahtu (dente sagrado), até mesmo a Dagoba (Stupa), que o encerra, ou ao sagrado Patra (gamela), ou ainda à pegada petrificada, à árvore sagrada que Buda semeou, do que no conhecimento profundo e no exercício fiel da sua sublime doutrina. De fato, tais pessoas não são capazes de outra coisa a não ser ficar boquiabertas.

NO MUSE IS GOOD MUSE -by Rochelle Distelheim To be an Artist you need talent, as well as a wife who washes the socks and the children, and returns phone calls and library books and types. In other words, the reason there are so many more Men Geniuses than Women Geniuses is not Genius. It is because Hemingway never joined the P.T.A. And Arthur Rubinstein ignored Halloween. Do you think Portnoy's creator sits through children's theater matinees--on Saturdays? Or that Norman Mailer faced 'driver's ed' failure, chicken pox or chipped teeth? Fitzgerald's night was so tender because the fender his teen-ager dented happened when Papa was at a story conference. Since Picasso does the painting, Mrs. Picasso did the toilet training. And if Saul Bellow, National Book Award winner, invited thirty-three for Thanksgiving Day dinner, I'll bet he had help. I'm sure Henry Moore was never a Cub Scout leader, and Leonard Bernstein never instructed a tricycler On becoming a bicycler just before he conducted. Tell me again my anatomy is not necessarily my destiny, tell me my hang-up is a personal and not a universal quandary, and I'll tell you no muse is a good muse unless she also helps with the laundry. -Rochelle Distelheim ===============================

Why do you think my life matters more than your life?” “Because it does!” he barked. But if his anger was smoke from a burnt pan, that truth—that simple truth that he cradled in his hands—had the same effect as throwing open a window next to the stove. All of the smoke, all of the fight left him in a rush. In a soft, choked voice, he said, “It matters more to me.” Esther settled back onto her heels. “Hank….” Hank took a deep breath. “I have felt more like myself in the last month since meeting you than I had for seventeen years. Seventeen years, Esther! Do you know what it feels like to be a ghost in your own house? In your own life?” She bit her bottom lip and Hank watched her top teeth make a dent in the soft pink peach slice of her mouth. He went on. “And then you came along. And you… you made me hope. You made me hope that things could change. That they could get better. That I could have a life again.” He stopped and rubbed a hand down his face. And then his hoarse voice cracked with emotion as he said, “You made me hope that I could be happy again.

Guide Note: For the past three decades of real time, the human Arthur Dent had made his life infinitely more miserable than it needed to be by displaying a spectacular ability to say the right thing but at the wrong time.

duties required by this Commandment we cannot do better than to quote the Westminster Confession of Faith. They are "the knowing and acknowledging of God to be the only true God, and our God (1 Chronicles 28:9; Dent. 26:17, etc.); and to worship and glorify Him accordingly (Psalm 95:6, Verse 7; Matthew 4:10, etc.),by thinking (Malachi 3:16), meditating (Psalm 63:6), remembering (Ecclesiastes 12:1), highly esteeming (Psalm 71:19), honoring (Malachi 1:6), adoring (Isaiah 45:23), choosing (Joshua 24:15), loving (Deuteronomy 6:5), desiring (Psalm 73:25), fearing of Him (Isaiah 8:13), believing Him (Exodus 14:3 1), trusting (Isaiah 26:4), hoping (Psalm 103:7), delighting (Psalm 37:4), rejoicing in Him (Psalm 32:11), being zealous for Him (Romans 12:11), calling upon him, giving all praise and thanks (Philippians 4:6), and yielding all obedience and submission to Him with the whole man (Jeremiah 7:23), being careful in all things to please Him (1 John 3:22), and sorrowful when in anything he is offended (Jeremiah 31:18; Psalm