Alan Moore

It was Kovacs who said "Mother" then, muffled under latex. It was Kovacs who closed his eyes. It was Rorschach who opened them again.

The ending is nearer than you think, and it is already written. All that we have left to choose is the correct moment to begin.

Who? Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask.

This is not anarchy, Eve. This is chaos.

I have so very much. I have so very little.

Knowledge, like air, is vital to life. Like air, no one should be denied it.

Your pretty empire took so long to build, now, with a snap of history's fingers, down it goes.

Who makes the world? Perhaps the world is not made. Perhaps nothing is made. Perhaps it simply is, has been, will always be there…a clock without a craftsman.

There is no coincidence. Only the illusion of coincidence.

The past can't hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.

Never despair. Never surrender.

You see, there's the way things seemed and then there's the way things were and one is so often the total reverse of the other.

Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose.

It's only those exceptional and rare individuals who have brilliant ideas delivered to them by the muse, complete and gift wrapped. The rest of us have to work at it.

Once you realize what a joke everything is, being the Comedian is the only thing that makes sense.

The past can't hurt you anymore. Not unless you let it. 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.

I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one. An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. we must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses, and apologized to no one.

There's a notion I'd like to see buried: the ordinary person. Ridiculous. There is no ordinary person.

The cold, suffocating dark goes on forever and we are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later.

Artists use lies to tell the truth. Yes, I created a lie. But because you believed it, you found something true about yourself.