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Date: Fri, 27 Oct 89 14:33:48 GMT
From: Magnus Olsson <magnus@thep.lu.se>
Subject: Liftarens guide
To: e88ar@rigel.sunet.se
Cc: dnalib@kcvax.ldc.lu.se
Message-Id: <8910271427.AA07354@thep.lu.se>

N}gra citat ur Liftarens Guide till Galaxen:

"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy":

"The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through
three distinct and recognizable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and
Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why and Where phases.
"For instance, the first phase is characterized by the question 'How can
we eat?' the second by the question 'Why do we eat?' and the third by
the question 'Where shall we have lunch?'"

"The knack of flying is learning how to throw yourself at
the ground and miss."

"There must be some mistake," he said, "are you not a greater computer than
the Milliard Gargantubrain which can count all the atoms in a star
in a millisecond?"
"The Milliard Gargantubrain?" said Deep Thought with unconcealed contempt.
"A mere abacus.  Mention it not."
"But are you not," he said, "a more fiendish disputant than
the Great Hyperlobic Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler of Ciceronicus Twelve,
the Magic and Indefatigable?"
"The Great Hyperlobic Omni-Cognate Neutron Wrangler," said Deep Thought,
thoroughly rolling the r's, "could talk all four legs off an Arcturan
Mega-Donkey -- but only I could persuade it to go for a walk afterward."

"Time is an illusion.  Lunchtime doubly so."

"What's that thing?"
"You know, 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!"

Anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President
should on no account be allowed to do the job.

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the
Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.
Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an
utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life
forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches
are a pretty neat idea...

Men were real men, women were real women, and small, furry creatures
>from Alpha Centauri were real small, furry creatures from Alpha
Centauri. Spirits were brave, men boldly split infinitives that no man
had split before. Thus was the Empire forged.

There is a theory that states: "If anyone finds out what the universe
is for it will disappear and be replaced by something more bazaarly
inexplicable."
There is another theory that states: "This has already happened...."

This planet has -- or rather had -- a problem, which was this: most of
the people living on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many
solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these were
largely concerned with the movements of small green pieces of paper,
which is odd because on the whole it wasn't the small green pieces of
paper that were unhappy.

With a rubber duck, one's never alone.
