Suddenly we were all exactly who we were, for better or worse, and then the President announced more troops were needed in Iraq and we kept catching ourselves in the mirror, recognizing something, something shining under the familiar crease and contour of our faces, this unique light of our mythical, our holy personalities, each of us singular, each unrepeatable in the immensity of Spacetime and right there we all remembered we were real, were lovers, gods or fiends in our own burning sagas so we cried, "What are those dreary yards that we have built? What lives are these that drape us gray like shrouds?"
and understood we were all heroes in our souls...
- Alan Moore, Promethea vol 5, Don't they know it's the end of the world (it ended when you said goodbye)?
