Alan Moore’s “Watchmen” Quotes (45 Quotes)

American love - like coke in green glass bottles...they don't make it anymore.

No. Not even in the face of Armageddon. Never compromise.

Through my fingers, grains of sand fall randomly, an unorganized beam of silica that seems to be pregnant of all conceivable forms... But everything is an illusion. Things have their forms not only in space, but also in time. Like thick blocks of marble that brings encrusted in them, statues in the future.

As I come to understand Vietnam and what it implies about the human condition, I also realize that few humans will permit themselves such an understanding.

None of you understand. I'm not locked up in here with YOU. You're locked up in here with ME.

Truly, whoever we are, wherever we reside, we exist upon the whim of murderers.

As I see it, part of the art of being a hero is knowing when you don't need to be one anymore.

Nothing ends, Adrian. Nothing ever ends.

We are alone. Live our lives, lacking anything better to do. Devise reason later.

Dan, I'm not a Republic serial villain. Do you seriously think I'd explain my master-stroke if there remained the slightest chance of you affecting its outcome? I did it thirty-five minutes ago.

Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life.

We gaze continually at the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. Yet seen from another's vantage point, as if new, it may still take the breath away.

Does the human heart know chasms so abysmal?

Nothing's that simple, not even things that are simply awful.

We have laboured long to build a heaven, only to find it populated with horrors.

I am brother to dragons, and companion to owls. My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.

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

Well, what do you expect? The Comedian is dead.

I did it thirty-five minutes ago.

Please! Don't all leave. Somebody has to do it, don't you see? Somebody has to save the world...

We're all puppets, Laurie. I'm just a puppet who can see the strings.

I leave the human cockroaches to discuss their heroin and child pornography.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? - Who watches the watchmen?

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.

I live my life free of compromise, and step into the shadows without complaint or regret.

Real life is messy, inconsistent, and it's seldom when anything ever really gets resolved. It's taken me a long time to realize that.

Why do we argue? Life's so fragile, a successful virus clinging to a speck of mud, suspended in endless nothing.

I sat on the bed. I looked at the Rorschach blot. I tried to make it look like a spreading tree, shadows pooled beneath it, but it didn't. It looked more like a dead cat I once found, the fat, glistening grubs writhing blindly, squirming over each other, frantically tunneling away from the light. But even that isn't the real horror. The horror is this: in the end, it is simply a picture of empty meaningless blackness.

The dusk reeks of fornication and bad consciences.

You know what I wish? I wish all the scum of the Earth had one throat and I had my hands about it.

I'm 65 years old. Everyday the future looks a little bit darker. But the past, even the grimy parts of it, well, it just keeps on getting brighter all the time.

The Rudderless World is not shaped by vague metaphysical Forces. It is not God who kills the Children. Not Fate that butchers them or Destiny that feeds them to the Dogs. ... It´s us. Only us.

In an era of stress and anxiety, when the present seems unstable and the future unlikely, the natural response is to retreat and withdraw from reality, taking recourse either in fantasies of the future or in modified visions of a half-imagines past

There is no future. There is no past. Do you see? Time is simultaneous, an intricately structured jewel that humans insist on viewing one edge at a time, when the whole design is visible in every facet.

It's early days. A few skeletons are bound to keep jumping out of the closet.

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

A live body and a dead body contain the same number of particles. Structurally, there's no discernible difference. Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts. Why should I be concerned?

It's funny, but certain faces seem to go in and out of style. You look at old photographs and everybody has a certain look to them, almost as if they're related. Look at pictures from ten years later and you can see that there's a new kind of face starting to predominate, and that the old faces are fading away and vanishing, never to be seen again.

They claim their labours are to build a heaven yet their heaven is populated with horrors. Perhaps the world is not made. Perhaps nothing is made. A clock without a craftsman. It's too late. Always has been, always will be…too late.

A world grows up around me. Am I shaping it, or do its predetermined contours guide my hand?

Janey accuses me of chasing jailbait. She bursts into angry tears, asking if it's because she's getting older. It's true. She's aging more noticeably every day - while I am standing still. I prefer the stillness here. I am tired of Earth. These people. I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.

They say we have we created the man to end all wars; I say we have created a man to end all worlds.

All we ever see of stars are their old photographs.

Never despair. Never surrender.

This city is dying of rabies. Is the best I can do to wipe random flecks of foam from its lips?