Bokelskere.no

In spacetravel, all the numbers are awful.

"The Guide says that there is an art to flying," said Ford, "or rather a knack. The knack likes in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss." He smiled weakly. He pointed at the knees of his trousers and held his arms up to show the elbows. They were all torn and worn through.

What he was doing was this: he was flying. He glanced around him in surprise, but there could be no doubt that that was what he was doing. No part of him was touching the ground, and no part og him was even approaching it. He was simply floating there with boulders hurtling through the air around him.

He hoped and prayed that there wasn't an afterlife. Then he realized there was a contradiction involved here and merely hoped that there wasn't an afterlife.