"There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed, or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did, and built, and wrote, and thought, and discovered will be forgotten and all of this will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming soon, maybe it’s millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that’s what everyone else does."

"The grey paint peels off the wall in odd and beautiful patterns, each cracked polygon of paint a snow flake of decay."

"It’s always been clear to me that Laurie Jupiter is not objectively a miracle. What’s miraculous is the love between her and the remnant of Jon Osterman that still exists inside Doctor Manhattan… The miracle of creation is only miraculous because of how we fit into it; how we mould ourselves into it; how we become a part of it; how it fits over us like skin. What makes this place a miracle is the relationship that we have with it, and that’s what makes each one of us so wonderful, too: the relationships that we have with our world, with the land, with the animals, with each other, with ourselves. Not because of the infinite improbability of it all - though it is all infinitely improbable - but because we can’t imagine anything cooler. We can’t imagine loving anything more. Doctor Manhattan could imagine all of the other probabilities, but he couldn’t imagine any Laurie Jupiter that he would love more than the one that he had. That’s what love is, people."