Alan Moore Quotes (92 Quotes)

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.

While a truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power.

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'm the king of the 20th century. I'm the boogeyman, the villian, the black sheep of the family.

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

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.

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.

With so much chaos, someone will do something stupid. And when they do, things will turn nasty

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.

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

You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you were beneath it.

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.

Love your rage, not your cage.

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

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.

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

No one will ever forget that night, and what it meant for this country. But I will never forget the man and what he meant to me.

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.

Artists use lies to tell the truth.

Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free. - Valerie Page

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.

Authority allows two roles: the torturer and the tortured. Twists people into joyless mannequins that fear and hate, while culture plunges into the abyss.

People shouldn't be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people.

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?

Authority, when first detecting chaos at its heels, will entertain the vilest schemes to save its orderly facade.

Remember, remember the fifth of November of gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason while gun powder treason should ever be forgot.

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.

Behind this mask there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea... and ideas are bulletproof.

Since mankind's dawn, a handful of oppressors have accepted the responsibility over our lives that we should have accepted for ourselves. By doing so, they took our power. By doing nothing, we gave it away. We've seen where their way leads, through camps and wars, towards the slaughterhouse.

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.

But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you. I love you. With all my heart, I love you.

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.

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