Quotes from Alan Moore

SR: We are talking of a world war. AQ: And that makes you sweat, son? SR: Heavens, man! Doesn't it you? AQ: This is Africa, dear boy. Sweating is what we do. ~Alan Quartermain and Sanderson Reed

is that what happens to us? a life of conflict with no time for friends ... so that when it's done, only our enemies leave roses.

That's Beethoven's fifth... Da da da dum! Heh heh. That's morse code, y'know. Uh, morse code? Hmm. It's morse code for the letter v.

He plans to use every low-down technique he knows to loosen up the suspect, everything from good cop/bad cop to a four-pound bag of oranges that damage the internal organs but don't leave a mark upon the skin. Or, failing that, he'll Google him. Sure

There is something in death akin to that which exists in love: both spur men to eloquence.

Noise is relative to the silence preceding it. The more absolute the hush, the more shocking the thunderclap. Our masters have not heard the people's voice for generations Evey and it is much, much louder than they care to remember.

The brightest has a gathering of people stood about it. Trapped beneath their heels, stretched shadows shy back from the flames, yet do not jump or dance. What are they burning there, so still by night? My

Labour at your work until people cannot imagine what you have designed existing any other way.

Until then, we're society's only protection. We keep it up long as we have to. Protection? Who are we protecting them from?

I imagine that existential dread probably ought to get a devil. A devil of post-colonial angst. A devil of complicated grief.

It smelled big, smelled like morning in a church hall where a jumble sale was going on, the air a weak infusion in which stale, damp coats steeped with the crumbling fresh pinkness of homemade coconut ice, the sneeze-provoking pages of old children's annuals and the sour metal lick of cast-off Dinky cars.

By connecting to nowhere you must in turn connect to everywhere, in the course of which becoming wise.  Nothing is permanent, but anything is possible.  Everything dies, yet beauty and joy endure. We are incredibly powerful and infinitely weak. Again and again these paradoxes repeat, like colors of yarn in an elaborate woven rug. There

Some of us have always lived on edge, Daniel. It is possible to survive if you observe rules: just hang on by fingernails...and never look down.

The people that we are when we're alive, that's who we are forever, nipper.

Evening work is economical. Power comes most cheaply by night.

Information is the only thing that can be lost in an imperishable universe. Mind is the only thing that truly dies.

You have to impress him! Be independent and plucky, but often do things that are moronic and out of character!

If you would know my path and follow in its way, then know the land about, both track and willage, in its bridge and in its drownings. Know the outcast rat-shacks, relic stones and gill-halls. Mark each path above and know the underpath below, its secret way from vault to treasure hole.' My

Why, Aza Chorn is dead. Just dead. About his monument, the ghosts parade. The zephyrs shriek and howl and tear apart the clouds, rail uselessly at death and in frustration snatch up blossoms shaped like human lips, and fling them like blood-red confetti from Olympus to those mortal pastures far below, a rain of angry kisses showering down upon those tiny, distant lives...

They made you into a victim, Evey. They made you into a statistic. But that's not the real you. That's not who you are inside.

He'd been wrong to tell the freaked-out teenager that it would all get better, because actually it didn't. It just faded to a deep held chord, a pedal-organ drone behind the normal noise of life, a thing that you forgot about and thought you'd put away forever, but it was still there. It was still here. He

Even though it's somebody else's tragedy rather than my own. I was there and I laughed along with all the rest and I guess that makes it part of my story also.

Love. His love for Cathy and the kids. That had been one of his protective mantras, he was certain, except love just made things crueller, gave you so much more to lose.

It was always a bad sign when better-off types drew comparisons between unsightly ghetto populations and some animal or other, most especially those species that we had, reluctantly, to poison periodically. Why didn't people keep their lame excuses to themselves? Mick