H2G2, tome 1 : Le Guide du voyageur galactique

Eh bien voilà, constata Arthur. Nous allons mourir.
- Oui, admit Ford, sauf que ... non ! Attends une minute !"
Et soudain, le voilà qui se précipite à travers le sas en dehors de quelque chose situé en dehors du champ de vision d'Arthur.
- Qu'est-ce que c'est que cet interrupteur ?
- Quoi ? Où ça ? s'écrie Arthur en se retournant.
- Mais non, je plaisantais, dit Ford. Nous allons effectivement mourir.

'My circuits are now irrevocably committed to calculating the answer to the Ultimate Questio of Life, the Universe, and Everything [...] but the programme will take me a little while to run.'
Fook glanced impatiently at his watch.
'How long?' he said.
'Seven and a half million years,' said Deep Thought.
Lunkwill and Fook bliked at each other.
'Seven and a half million years...!' they cried in chorus.
'Yes,' declaimed Deep Thought, 'I said I'd have to think about it, didn't I?'

'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 depp 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.'

"People of Earth, your attention please," a voice said, and it was wonderful. Wonderful perfect quadrophonic sound with distortion levels so low as to make a brave man weep.
"This is Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz of the Galactic Hyperspace Planning Council," the voice continued. "As you will no doubt be aware, the plans for development of the outlying regions of the Galaxy require the building of a hyperspatial express route through your star system, and regrettably your planet is one of those those scheduled for demolition. The process will take slightly less than two of your Earth minutes. Thank you."

Voici la démarche à suivre au cas où vous voudriez être pris en stop par un Vogon : laissez tomber.

42

Many men of course became extremely rich, but this was perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of because no one was really poor - at least no one worth speaking of.

Poésie Vogon:
"O blas bougriot glabouilleux.....
Tes micturations me touchent
Comme des flatouillis slictueux
Sur une botte mouche....
Grubeux, je t'implore,
Car mes fontins s'empalindroment
Et surrénalement me sporent
De croinçantes épiquarômes.
Ou sinon... nous t'échierons dans les gobinapes
Du fond de notre patafion
Tu verras si j'en suis pas cap.

"So are you going to come quietly," shouted one of the cops again, "or are you going to let us blast you out?"
"Which would you prefer ?" shouted Ford.
A millisecond later the air about them started to fry again (...).
The fusillade continued for several seconds at unbearable intensity.
When it stopped, there were a few seconds of near quietness as the echoes died away.
"You still there ?" called one of the cops.
"Yes," they called back.

Tu sais, remarqua Arthur, c'est en de tels moments, quand je me retrouve coincé dans un sas vogon en compagnie d'un natif de Bételgeuse, au seuil d'une mort imminente par asphyxie dans les profondeurs de l'espace, que je regrette de ne pas avoir écouté ce que me disait ma mère quand j'était petit.

Eh bien, que te disait-elle ?

Je sais pas. J'ai pas écouté