The regular early morning yell of horror was the sound of Arthur Dent waking up and suddenly remembering where he was.
"The point is," he said, "that people like you and me, Slartibartfast, and Arthur--particularly and especially Arthur--are just dilettantes, eccentrics, layabouts if you like."
Slartibartfast frowned, partly in puzzlement and partly in umbrage. He started to speak.
"..." is as far as he got.
"We're not obsessed by anything, you see," insisted Ford.
"And that's the deciding factor. We can't win against obsession. They care, we don't. They win."
"I care about lots of things," said Slartibartfast, his voice trembling partly with annoyance, but partly also with uncertainty.
"Well," said the old man, "life, the Universe. Everything, really. Fjords."
"Would you die for them?"
"Fjords?" blinked Slartibartfast in surprise. "No." "Well then."
"Wouldn't see the point, to be honest."
Reading his stuff being a bit older, I really see where he's looking to develop characters. But also where he is so brilliant at critiquing and playing with deep philosophical ideas. Like, Pratchett has a lot of morality, but usually you can't help but see it. Douglas Adams is a bit sneakier...