Best 71 quotes in «jungle quotes» category

There is no universal language in the jungles; each species has its own language, and though the vocabulary of some is limited, as in the case of porcupines and vultures, the language of each species is understood by all the jungle-folk.

There is something about this wine and a jungle river at dusk when thirsty animals approach to drink. Over there you’ll find some philosophical beginnings…

The world has always been ruled by violent people just as a jungle is ruled by a lion. Non-violent people have always had to submit to the onslaught of the violent people and lose their honour.The rule of non-violence i as utopian as the sheep ruling a jungle over lions.

The world is a jungle and each of us is alone. Each of us is the hunter and every one is the hunted. Kill or be killed. In this jungle, only the smartest will survive. Your brother is smart, you are not. You are a fool, filled with stupid notions of duty. Unless you cure yourself of this disease, you are doomed.

try to don't be killed and pray for healing, but be a killer and pray for forgiveness.

Things is very primitive in the jungle - no place to shit, sleep on the ground like an animal, eat out of cans, no place to take a bath or nothing, clothes is all rotting off.

Weak prey didn’t live long. It was the law of the jungle.

We'd never seen anything as green as these rice paddies. It was not just the paddies themselves: the surrounding vegetation - foliage so dense the trees lost track of whose leaves were whose - was a rainbow coalition of one colour: green. There was an infinity of greens, rendered all the greener by splashes of red hibiscus and the herons floating past, so white and big it seemed as if sheets hung out to dry had suddenly taken wing. All other colours - even purple and black - were shades of green. Light and shade were degrees of green. Greenness, here, was less a colour than a colonising impulse. Everything was either already green - like a snake, bright as a blade of grass, sidling across the footpath - or in the process of becoming so. Statues of the Buddha were mossy, furred with green.

Well, things can't get much worse -- that's one consolation," the Muskrat groaned. He had hidden himself in a forest of bracken in the bathroom, and had wrapped his head in a handkerchief so that nothing should grow into his ears.

What was it like then to witness the transformation wrought by this construction? A geometric idea of precision suddenly imposed on a landscape, lived on and in for centuries. The land itself like a body submitted to military discipline. Or like a mind, tutored along certain acceptable pathways, so that finally all that lies outside certain avenues of thought begins to assume an air of unreality. The land of course is still there. Only now it has receded into the background. It is what you see in your peripheral vision as you speed down the highway. The complexity of it, the intricate presence of it, has been reduced now to a single word, jungle. If once you breathed its breath or slept surrounded by its dark or wakened with its light, you no longer remember. You tell yourself life has improved. The jungle is in the past. To enter it is to stray from the path, or to be pulled down into some unknown depth. It is an exotic place, intriguing but also unpredictable, uncontrolled, threatening the well-paved order of existence.

Where everything is words, you'd think I'd have some mastery and know my way around, but all this churning hatred, each man a verbal firing squad, immeasurable suspicions, a flood of mocking, angry talk, all of life a vicious debate, conversations in which there is nothing that cannot be said...no, I'd be better off in the jungle, I thought, where a roar's a roar and no one is hard put to miss its meaning.

When he came down, he was slower, and clutching something his hand. He leapt down the last 5 feet or so and came over to me, uncurling his fingers. In his palm was something trembling and silky and the bright, delicious pale gold of apples; in the gloom of the jungle it looked like light itself. Uva nudged the thing with a finger and it turned over, and I could see it was a monkey of some sort, though no monkey I had ever seen before; it was only a few inches larger than one of the mice I had once been tasked with killing, and his face was a wrinkled black heart, its features pinched together but its eyes large and as blankly blue as a blind kitten's. It had tiny, perfectly formed hands, one of which was gripping its tail, which it had wrapped around itself and which was flamboyantly furred, its hair hanging like a fringe.

When gorillas smell danger, they run around and call out to the rest of the primates in the jungle to warn them something evil is coming. And when one of their own dies, they mourn for days while beating themselves up in sadness for failing to save that gorilla, even if the cause of death was natural. And when one colony is mourning, their chilling echoes migrate to other colonies — and those neighbors, even if they are territorial rivals, will also grieve with them. When faced with a common danger, rivals turn into allies. And when faced with death, the loss of just one gorilla becomes the loss of the entire jungle.

Wild rejoice in jungles not in cages.

And anyway, who wears a tiara on a jungle gym?

I am from the jungle where the lion eats the cobra

But I went down to Venezuela and spend a few weeks going through jungles. It's fantastic looking.

I just directed The Jungle Book with Cate Blanchet and Christian Bale.

I don't like concrete jungles.

In the jungle, life and food depend on keeping your temper.

I learnt in the jungle that there is a great tranquility associated with having nothing of value

I like to open new doors and blaze new trails through the jungle and all that whatnot. What keeps me goin all these years is changin it up.

Life is a zoo in a jungle.

I think if anyone looks at the history of So Solid, you'll see that we've never stuck to one sound. We've always created from other genres, from R&B, hip-hop, bashment, jungle.

Lipstick Jungle' was on the air for 20 episodes - I loved 'Lipstick Jungle.

Public opinion, or what passes for public opinion, is not invariably a moderating force in the jungle of politics.

They use everything about the hog except the squeal.

Richard is a very sexy man. He's got that sort of jungle essence that one can sense." (on Richard Burton)

We're often so busy cutting through the undergrowth we don't even realise we're in the wrong jungle.

Those terrifying verbal jungles called laws are simply such directives, accumulated, codified, and systematized through the centuries.

Unrestricted individualism is the law of the beast of the jungle.

Writer is a monkey, jumping from one tree to another in the jungle of words.

What I need is a lawyer who specializes in the law of the jungle.

What's troubling is that because the camera is 3D, the northern part of the screen isn't necessarily north anymore. So the jungle transforms into the true meaning of a jungle. For someone with no sense of direction like myself, I get lost in the caves every time.

A lion does not become king of the jungle hunting mice.

A lion does not earn its crown quarreling with sheep.

A lion is not afraid of walking alone, even if the whole jungle is pursuing it.

A lion earns its honor in the jungle.

An elephant does not need to pick a fight to let the whole jungle know of its strength.

As he plods behind Cameron and Summer, he can’t help but stare at Summer’s exposed, glistening skin. His thoughts aren’t depraved or even mildly in the splasher. In fact, he focuses on the marks of cruelty crisscrossing her back, stomach, and shoulders. He trudges along, drenched, feet swollen, constantly searching for even a hint of a breeze, all while being forced to stare at the alarming network of burns traversing Summer’s delicate skin. This latticework of hate reveals a brutal truth—one he can scarcely comprehend. Yes, he’s glimpsed and felt her scars before, but this is the first time he’s really, truly seen the severity and extent of her life as a slave. With each step, he must digest the monstrosities of her past, leaving him utterly devastated.

Deep in the heart of the hot, wet African rainforest, there lives a tribe of peacemakers who share a multiplicity of pleasures and make a very special kind of love. South of the sprawling Congo River, in the midst of war-ravaged territory, some 2,000 miles from the arid Ethiopian desert where the oldest human fossils have been found, lies this lush and steamy jungle paradise, the only natural habitat of the bonobo.

But Moominmamma was quite unperturbed. "Well, well!" she said, "it seems to me that our guests are having a very good time." "I hope so," replied Moominpappa. "Pass me a banana, please dear.

Before he could think too much he found himself inches from her lips, “Just a taste,” he whispered.

Exterior: the jungle. Interior: Dark night of the white man’s soul.

Don’t be afraid of being alone; a lion does not rule the jungle with sheep at its side.

Emotion is ‘recognition’. When treasured moments are identified in the jungle of our personal history during a visual or aural encounter, we capture magic sparks from our past, arousing flashes of insight and revealing an inner flare. These instants of recognition may kindle enthralling emotion and fulfilling inspiration. (“Those journeys of love”)

He closed his eyes willing his desire to cool before meeting hers once more, “I am Lutalo Gund, your mate.

For the jungle dissolves and recreates over and over and over again, as the Hindu philosophers perceived millenniums ago and built their religion on it. All that we know of things that died more anciently than a month ago, is written in stone or brick or earthwork, or, perhaps more durable even than these, in legend.

He softly brushed a lock of brown hair from her face, “Believe it, liefie, it seems you are irresistible. I will have to keep my guard up if I don’t want you to be snatched away.

I clung tightly to Kwan’s mane as he propelled his great serpent body through the cloud banks. The cockatrice’s big green head dipped under the clouds, and I spotted an emerald island below, with dramatic peaks jutting up from the jungle. I asked the great cockatrice for the name of the isle, but he only laughed at me, saying that names changed faster than a century’s wind. That didn’t seem very fast to me, but I took his word for it.