Dinosaurs Inspirational Quotes

If you want to write a fantasy story with Norse gods, sentient robots, and telepathic dinosaurs, you can do just that. Want to throw in a vampire and a lesbian unicorn while you're at it? Go ahead. Nothing's off limits. But the endless possibility of the genre is a trap. It's easy to get distracted by the glittering props available to you and forget what you're supposed to be doing: telling a good story. Don't get me wrong, magic is cool. But a nervous mother singing to her child at night while something moves quietly through the dark outside her house? That's a story. Handled properly, it's more dramatic than any apocalypse or goblin army could ever be.

If the second dinosaur to the left of the tall cycad tree had not happened to sneeze and thereby fail to catch the tiny, shrew-like ancestor of all the mammals, we should none of us be here.

Global warming, along with the cutting and burning of forests and other critical habitats, is causing the loss of living species at a level comparable to the extinction event that wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago. That event was believed to have been caused by a giant asteroid. This time it is not an asteroid colliding with the Earth and wreaking havoc: it is us.

And it's deadly to us. We can inspire lust, but it's just a shadow. An illusion. Love is a dangerous force." He shook his head. "Love killed the dinosaurs, man." I'm pretty sure a meteor killed the dinosaurs, Thomas." He shrugged. "There's a theory making the rounds now that when the meteor hit it only killed off the big stuff. That there were plenty of smaller reptiles running around, about the same size as all the mammals at the time. The reptiles should have regained their position eventually, but they didn't, because the mammals could feel love. They could be utterly, even irrationally devoted to their mates and their offspring. It made them more likely to survive. The lizards couldn't do that. The meteor hit gave the mammals their shot, but it was love that turned the tide.

The thing about being an unstoppable force is that you can really only enjoy the experience of being one when you have something to bash yourself against. You need to have things trying to stop you so that you can get a better sense of how fast you are going as you smash through them. And whenever I was inside the dinosaur costume, that is the only thing I wanted to do.

There is nothing in the whole of creation as beautiful as dinosaurs singing in harmony.

A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since departed, Mark the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here On our planet floor, Any broad alarm of their of their hastening doom Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages. But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, Come, you may stand upon my Back and face your distant destiny, But seek no haven in my shadow. I will give you no hiding place down here. You, created only a little lower than The angels, have crouched too long in The bruising darkness, Have lain too long Face down in ignorance. Your mouths spelling words Armed for slaughter. The rock cries out today, you may stand on me, But do not hide your face. Across the wall of the world, A river sings a beautiful song, Come rest here by my side. Each of you a bordered country, Delicate and strangely made proud, Yet thrusting perpetually under siege. Your armed struggles for profit Have left collars of waste upon My shore, currents of debris upon my breast. Yet, today I call you to my riverside, If you will study war no more. Come, clad in peace and I will sing the songs The Creator gave to me when I And the tree and stone were one. Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow And when you yet knew you still knew nothing. The river sings and sings on. There is a true yearning to respond to The singing river and the wise rock. So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew, The African and Native American, the Sioux, The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek, The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh, The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher, The privileged, the homeless, the teacher. They hear. They all hear The speaking of the tree. Today, the first and last of every tree Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the river. Plant yourself beside me, here beside the river. Each of you, descendant of some passed on Traveller, has been paid for. You, who gave me my first name, You Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, You Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, Then forced on bloody feet, Left me to the employment of other seekers-- Desperate for gain, starving for gold. You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot... You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, Bought, sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare Praying for a dream. Here, root yourselves beside me. I am the tree planted by the river, Which will not be moved. I, the rock, I the river, I the tree I am yours--your passages have been paid. Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need For this bright morning dawning for you. History, despite its wrenching pain, Cannot be unlived, and if faced with courage, Need not be lived again. Lift up your eyes upon The day breaking for you. Give birth again To the dream. Women, children, men, Take it into the palms of your hands. Mold it into the shape of your most Private need. Sculpt it into The image of your most public self. Lift up your hearts. Each new hour holds new chances For new beginnings. Do not be wedded forever To fear, yoked eternally To brutishness. The horizon leans forward, Offering you space to place new steps of change. Here, on the pulse of this fine day You may have the courage To look up and out upon me, The rock, the river, the tree, your country. No less to Midas than the mendicant. No less to you now than the mastodon then. Here on the pulse of this new day You may have the grace to look up and out And into your sister's eyes, Into your brother's face, your country And say simply Very simply With hope Good morning.

Then why do they hate me? No, they don't. They are just confused. Something different always confuses others. It makes them feel uncomfortable.

What I’ve always insisted on from myself is to do as well as I could, and keep doing better until I’m at least competent. Long ago I learned that to achieve anything, one must start where one stands. Or spend eternity waiting for the right moment. Which never comes.

You are surrounded by ignorance, savagery and fanaticism. You live in a society where everyone thinks he/she knows about everything in the whole universe. If you find yourself among those intellectual idiots, then being good and humble may give rise to doubts in your mind about your own ideas. So, you must first learn to distinguish between real and shallow intellect. Then, as a self- preservation tactic, you need to let your pretence of arrogance grow as big as a Dinosaur, so that the fake intellectuals start to realize their true inferiority in front of you.

…imagine that the earth—four thousand six hundred million years old—[were] a forty-six-year-old woman…. It had taken the whole of the Earth Woman’s life for the earth to become what it was. For the oceans to part. For the mountains to rise. The Earth Woman was eleven years old…when the first single-celled organisms appeared. The first animals, creatures like worms and jellyfish, appeared only when she was forty. She was over forty-five—just eight months ago—when dinosaurs roamed the earth. The whole of human civilization as we know it began only two hours ago in the Earth Woman’s life…. It was an awe-inspiring and humbling thought…that the whole of contemporary history, the World Wars, the War of Dreams, the Man on the Moon, science, literature, philosophy, the pursuit of knowledge—was no more than a blink of the Earth Woman’s eye.

Only by dint of extinction, can Dinosaurs afford to be cynical about the future.

Failure is just success rounded down, my friend!

Some five decades later, writer Terry Sullivan was inspired by Mary’s life story to compose the popular tongue twister : She sells seashells on the seashore The shells she sells are seashells, I’m sure So if she sells seashells on the seashore Then I’m sure she sells seashore shells.

Double Faced World -Women of Today.......Women want to be slim beautiful sexy savvy,there whole world depends on them...can go to any heights to be that ....in the process they lose patience perseverance and tolerance where are we heading towards ....fashion has become a one big Dinosaur...leading to dysfunctional society...

But being alone was also a closed loop. A loop with a slipknot, say. The loop could be small or large, but it always returned to itself. You had to untie the knot, finally. Open the loop and then everything sank in. And everyone. Then you could see what was true--that separateness had always been the illusion. A simple trick of flesh.

Double Faced World.....Women of Today...want to be slim sexy,savvy more then ever....their whole world revolves around it...can go to any heights to be that...!!!!!in the process they are losing patience,perseverance,tolerance,what are we heading towards Fashion Industry has become one Giant Dinosaurous....leading all the up to a dysfunctional society...

About a hundred million years ago, the dinosaurs had everything their own way. They thought they knew all the answers. They thought they could hear the grass growing. Maybe they could. But according to Titsling and Boukanowski, their social life was a disgrace. They changed their sex every other month and used profane language, and at the age of three, at the very tender age of three, they would go steady in no uncertain manner and bring forth eggs as large as footballs! Without benefit of clergy or city hall. Extinction! That's what they asked for, that’s what they got.

Never play the princess when you can be the queen: rule the kingdom, swing a scepter, wear a crown of gold. Don’t dance in glass slippers, crystal carving up your toes -- be a barefoot Amazon instead, for those shoes will surely shatter on your feet. Never wear only pink when you can strut in crimson red, sweat in heather grey, and shimmer in sky blue, claim the golden sun upon your hair. Colors are for everyone, boys and girls, men and women -- be a verdant garden, the landscape of Versailles, not a pale primrose blindly pushed aside. Chase green dragons and one-eyed zombies, fierce and fiery toothy monsters, not merely lazy butterflies, sweet and slow on summer days. For you can tame the most brutish beasts with your wily wits and charm, and lizard scales feel just as smooth as gossamer insect wings. Tramp muddy through the house in a purple tutu and cowboy boots. Have a tea party in your overalls. Build a fort of birch branches, a zoo of Legos, a rocketship of Queen Anne chairs and coverlets, first stop on the moon. Dream of dinosaurs and baby dolls, bold brontosaurus and bookish Belle, not Barbie on the runway or Disney damsels in distress -- you are much too strong to play the simpering waif. Don a baseball cap, dance with Daddy, paint your toenails, climb a cottonwood. Learn to speak with both your mind and heart. For the ground beneath will hold you, dear -- know that you are free. And never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.

Anything above nothing means moving towards your goal.

If the American culture of movies, shopping males, and soft drinks cannot inspire us, there are other Americas that can: Americas of renegades and prisoners, of dreamers and outsiders. Something can be salvaged from the twisted wreck of the “democratic sprit” celebrated by Walt Whitman, something subverted from the sense that each person has worth and dignity: a spirit that can be sustained on self-reliance and initiative. These Americas are America of the alienated and marginalized: indigenous warriors, the freedom fighters of civil rights, the miners’ rebelling in the Appalachian Mountains. America’s past is full of revolutionary hybrids; our lists could stretch infinitely onwards towards undiscovered past or future. The monolith of a rich and plump America must be destroyed to make room for many Americas. A folk anarchist culture rising in the periphery of America, and can grow in the fertile ground that lies beneath the concrete of the great American wasteland. Anyone struggling today – living the hard life and fighting the even harder fight – is a friend even if he or she can never share a single meal with us, or speak our language. The anarchists of America, with our influence as wide as our prairies and dreams that could light those prairies on fire, can make entire meals on discarded food, live in abandoned buildings, and travel on the secret paths of lost highways and railroads, we are immensely privileged.

When you see your life through the eyes of a dinosaur, albeit parrot, that's when you truly see the magic of God here and now. Stop questioning the past and live in the moment to strive for a better, more promising future. We're all born to make a difference.

Thanks by Maisie Aletha Smikle Giving thanks need no ranks From the dinosaurs to the ants Thanks for all Great and small Giving thanks is an everyday affair Even though Thanksgiving comes but once a year A thank you we must share Giving thanks for what is dear Be it far Or be it near Thanks for things present Even though you may receive no presents Thanks for the past Oh Lord how time goes by fast Thanks for the future For indeed we have been given nature Water that rains from up above Springs that emerge from the rocks beneath To nourish and make all things flourish Without which all would perish Food that grows Trees that bloom Flowers that calm And herbs for balm Giving thanks may sometimes make you sad If you recall something bad Give thanks for all things good And the times you have withstood

​Let your pretence of arrogance grow big as a Dinosaur, so that the fake intellectuals start to realize their true inferiority in front of you.

Honor He Wrote Sonnet 73 Better a lion in sheep's skin, Than a sheep in lion's skin. Better a giant in a gentle vessel, Than germs in a fancy canteen. When not needed act mostly a sheep, But occasionally you gotta let the lion out. Be a disinfectant and sanitize the world, Not germs that make disease break out. All social sickness is caused by selfishness, And hypocrisy is what makes things worse. Wipe out all hypocrisy from your being's core, The world is a reflection of what's in our heart. I say again, lion on the inside, sheep on the out. When chihuahuas wreak havoc, let the dinosaur out.

Someone has to do something. Why shouldn't it be me?

Inspired by the Scientific Revolution, [James] Ussher began to measure how much time was in the Bible, all the way back to “the beginning.” … Finally, in 1650, he came to a conclusion: Earth was formed on Sunday, October 23, 4004 B.C….around lunchtime. Modern science tells us that this number is wrong by approximately 4,499,994,000 years. But historians regard Ussher’s date as the first time that someone tried to calculate the age of Earth. This was the birth of geology. In 1703, the Church of England printed an updated version of the King James Bible, the most popular version of the Bible in the world, and included Ussher’s dates in the margins. From that point on, Christians thought Ussher’s numbers were as much a part of the Bible of the words themselves. The year 4004 B.C. became part of the religious education of every man, woman, and child in England.

There exists a presence in the ocean, seldom glimpsed in waking hours, best envisioned in your dreams. While you drift in sleep, turtles ride the curve of the deep, seeking their inspiration from the sky. From tranquil tropic bays or nightmare maelstroms hissing foam, they come unseen to share our air. Each sharp exhalation affirms, “Life yet endures.” Each inhaled gasp vows, “Life will continue.” With each breath they declare to the stars and wild silence. By night and by light, sea turtles glide always, their parallel universe strangely alien, yet intertwining with ours.

When I was a boy, I wanted to be a dinosaur, until I was 18 years old, then my father told me that I have to grow up and be a man.

I want to tell him I didn’t need inspirational sayings. I preferred to get my self-awareness advice from the same place as everyone else—social media memes.

By looking at tetrachromats among modern animals and working backward, scientists can deduce that the first vertebrates were likely tetrachromats, too. Mammals, probably because they were all initially nocturnal, lost two of their ancestral cones and became dichromats. But they scurried beneath the feet of dinosaurs, which were almost certainly tetrachromats and “probably saw all kinds of cool non-spectral colors,” Stoddard says. It’s ironic that for the longest time, illustrators and filmmakers portrayed dinosaurs in dull shades of brown, gray, and green. Only recently have artists started painting these animals with bright colors, inspired by the revelation that they are the ancestors of birds. But even these vivid hues, applied with a trichromat’s eye, capture just a tiny proportion of the colors that dinosaurs probably wore or saw.