Quotes from Alan Moore

Although the fire is dead, these cinders are its voice

inverted memories of this immediate revelation, memories that in some puzzling fashion one might have before their subject had occurred. The

Aprovechados, impostores, mentirosos, lunáticos... esos han sido los que han tomado las decisiones. Así de sencillo. Pero, ¿quién los eligió? ¡Tú! ¡Tú les buscaste! ¡Tú les nombraste! ¡Tú les diste el poder de decidir por ti! Admito que cualquiera puede equivocarse una vez, pero cometer los mismos errores fatales siglo tras siglo me parece un tanto deliberado.

In this world, you shouldn't rely on help from anybody. In the end, a man stands alone.

His sister, in a big turquoise Angora sweater, leaned upon the wood frame of the open nursery door, anxiously looking out to see if he was really going to show, beaming and waving like a pastel colored TV Muppet when she spotted him.

For soon, the dark millenium will fall, and the world will be a different place, requiring different species. Cataracts will occlude the Sun, shutting out its hateful light, and fabulous new life-forms shall flourish and struggle beneath the perpetual stars.

Delightfully, however, even phrases of world-ending awesome fury, spoken through a split lip, were quite funny.

Seymour, we do not dignify absurdities with coverage. This is still America, god damnit! Who wants a cowboy actor in the White House?

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

These days, superhero comics think the audience is certainly not nine to 13, it's nothing to do with them. It's an audience largely of 30-, 40-, 50-, 60-year old men, usually men. Someone came up with the term graphic novel. These readers latched on to it; they were simply interested in a way that could validate their continued love of Green Lantern or Spider-Man without appearing in some way emotionally subnormal.

If you had a population that were miserable and restless because they had nowhere bearable to live, then the preferred solution seemed not to be spending money on improving their condition but on hiring more police in case things should turn ugly, housing these new myrmidons in properties from which the itchy and disgruntled man-herds were already serendipitously purged.

for lightnings mark our transit and the corners of Eternity are opened.

Nor does anyone know what the purpose is in anything, or why things happen in the way they do. It don't seem fair when you see some of them mean buggers living to a ripe old age and here's your lovely daughter took so soon. All I can tell you is what I believe. There's justice up above the street, my dear.

Fair enough, you have managed to successfully swindle me, and so I will never work for you again.

I find it difficult sometimes to read exploration as other than a euphemism for empire and exploitation. The

Do you understand how I have loved you? You'd have all been dead in a year or two from liver failure, men, or childbirth. Dead. Forgotten. I have saved you. Do you understand that? I have made you safe from time, and we are wed in legend, inextricable within eternity.

Behind gods, ghosts, and people squats the state, which asserts total access to both public and private space: the

Laurie: Her pain, her fears, her whole life, y' know? I mean, ordinary people, right? All the things that happen to them... doesn't that move you more than a bunch of rubble?

Meat movies... In which the horror rests with the idea of doing to humans what humans do each day to trees in their thousands. Yes, as a symbol... Close your eyes, Mrs. Cable. Close your eyes and shout 'timber'.

If gods are transcendent ideas, then the idea of a god IS a god.

There's no point worrying about it now, at any rate. Things tend to sort themselves out, Alma thinks, although she knows that this directly contradicts the laws of physics, common sense, and her political experience of the last forty years.

Without me, things would have been different. If the fat man hadn't crushed the watch, if I hadn't left it in the test chamber. . . Am I to blame, then? Or the fat man? Or my father, for choosing my career? Which of us is responsible? Who makes the world?

In my opinion, it's a highly over-rated phenomenon. Mars gets along perfectly without so much as a micro-organism. See: There's the South Pole beneath us now. . . No life. No life at all, but giant steps, ninety feet high, scoured by dust and wind into a constantly changing topographical map, flowing and shifting around the pole in ripples ten thousand years wide. Tell me. . . would it be greatly improved by an oil pipeline?

Wherever did these jumped-up monkeys get all their ideas from?