ch: sally jupiter



“It is the oldest ironies that are still the most satisfying: man, when preparing for bloody war, will orate loudly and most eloquently in the name of peace.”

Miracles. Events with astronomical odds of occurring, like oxygen turning into gold. I’ve longed to witness such an event, and yet I neglect that in human coupling, millions upon millions of cells compete to create life, for generation after generation until, finally, your mother loves a man, Edward Blake, the Comedian, a man she has every reason to hate, and out of that contradiction, against unfathomable odds, it’s you - only you - that emerged. To distill so specific a form, from all that chaos. It’s like turning air into gold. A miracle. And so… I was wrong. Now dry your eyes, and let’s go home.
—  Dr. Manhattan, The Watchmen