Lion Territory Quotes

...if you fall into a lion's pit, the reason the lion will tear you to pieces is not because it's hungry-be assured, zoo animals are amply fed-or because it's bloodthirsty, but because you've invaded it's territory.

Why do men want to kill the bodies of other men? Women don't want to kill the bodies of other women, by and large. As far as we know. Here are some traditional reasons: Loot. Territory. Lust for power. Hormones. Adrenaline high. Rage. God. Flag. Honor. Righteous anger. Revenge. Oppression. Slavery. Starvation. Defense of one's life. Love; or, a desire to protect the women and children. From what? From the bodies of other men. What men are most afraid of is not lions, not snakes, not the dark, not women. Not any more. What men are most afraid of is the body of another man. Men's bodies are the most dangerous thing on earth.

...God sent His Prince, Jesus, into rebel territory to conquer evil and free us to be true citizens of the Kingdom again... That’s the essential story we find in the Bible, and it’s the essential story at the heart of each of our lives. And that’s what all good fantasy stories have at their core, whether or not it’s a conscious theme.

Enough !! of the lion ruling the wild territory, time to vote the panther gentlemen.

It goes without saying that even those of us who are going to hell will get eternal life—if that territory really exists outside religious books and the minds of believers, that is. Having said that, given the choice, instead of being grilled until hell freezes over, the average sane human being would, needless to say, rather spend forever idling in an extremely fertile garden, next to a lamb or a chicken or a parrot, which they do not secretly want to eat, and a lion or a tiger or a crocodile, which does not secretly want to eat them.

A lion is not a lion if it is only free to eat, to sleep and to copulate. It deserves to be free to hunt and to choose its own prey; to look for and find its own mate; to fight for and hold its own territory; and to die where it was born—in the wild. It should have the same rights as we have.

The house cat has gained ground from the Arctic Circle to the Hawaiian archipelago, taken over Tokyo and New York, and stormed the entire continent of Australia. And somewhere along the way, it seized the most precious and closely guarded piece of territory on the planet: the stronghold of the human heart.

So you see, if you fall into a lion's pit, the reason the lion will tear you to pieces is not because it's hungry- be assured, zoo animals are amply fed- or because it's blood thirsty, but because you've invaded it's territory.

But in the service when we recite 'They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old', we both cry. For different reasons. I have become swept up in this. These wiry old lions. Their properness. Their improperness. Their tidy jackets. Their name tags. Their risky humour. Their imagination. Their no shit. I am ashamed of what we haven't done with our freedom and their victories. Living off the fat of the land. With our central heating and our power steering and our fast food and our leaf-blowers and our shopping malls. My tears are self-indulgent: about loss, the world; and about me probably. While Dad is just having a cry.

One article on reproductive strategies was titled "Sneaky Fuckers." Kya laughed. As is well known, the article began, in nature, usually the males with the most prominent secondary sexual characteristics, such as the biggest antlers, deepest voices, broadest chests, and superior knowledge secure the best territories because they have fended off weaker males. The females choose to mate with these imposing alphas and are thereby inseminated with the best DNA around, which is passed on to the female's offspring- one of the most powerful phenomena in the adaptation and continuance of life. Plus, the females get the best territory for their young. However, some stunted males, not strong, adorned, or smart enough to hold good territories, possess bags of tricks to fool the females. They parade their smaller forms around in pumped-up postures or shout frequently- even if in shrill voices. By relying on pretense and false signals, they manage to grab a copulation here or there. Pint-sized male bullfrogs, the author wrote, hunker down in the grass and hide near an alpha male who is croaking with great gusto to call in mates. When several females are attracted to his strong vocals at the same time, and the alpha is busy copulating with one, the weaker male leaps in and mates one of the others. The imposter males were referred to as "sneaky fuckers." Kya remembered, those many years ago, Ma warning her older sisters about young men who overrevved their rusted-out pickups or drove jalopies around with radios blaring. "Unworthy boys make a lot of noise," Ma had said. She read a consolation for females. Nature is audacious enough to ensure that the males who send out dishonest signals or go from one female to the next almost always end up alone. Another article delved into the wild rivalries between sperm. Across most life-forms, males compete to inseminate females. Male lions occasionally fight to the death; rival bull elephants lock tusks and demolish the ground beneath their feet as they tear at each other's flesh. Though very ritualized, the conflicts can still end in mutilations. To avoid such injuries, inseminators of some species compete in less violent, more creative methods. Insects, the most imaginative. The penis of the male damselfly is equipped with a small scoop, which removes sperm ejected by a previous opponent before he supplies his own. Kya dropped the journal on her lap, her mind drifting with the clouds. Some female insects eat their mates, overstressed mammal mothers abandon their young, many males design risky or shifty ways to outsperm their competitors. Nothing seemed too indecorous as long as the tick and the tock of life carried on. She knew this was not a dark side to Nature, just inventive ways to endure against all odds. Surely for humans there was more.

Territories in the wild are large not as a matter of taste but of necessity. In a zoo, we do for animals what we have done for ourselves with houses: we bring together in a small space what in the wild is spread out. Whereas before for us the cave was here, the river over there, the hunting grounds a mile that way, the lookout next to it, the berries somewhere else—all of them infested with lions, snakes, ants, leeches and poison ivy—now the river flows through taps at hand’s reach and we can wash next to where we sleep, we can eat where we have cooked, and we can surround the whole with a protective wall and keep it clean and warm. A house is a compressed territory where our basic needs can be fulfilled close by and safely. A sound zoo enclosure is the equivalent for an animal (with the noteworthy absence of a fireplace or the like, present in every human habitation).

And yes, many of us became fathers to fully understand what it means to be a father. Albert Einstein once said: "Every man is a genius but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb trees, it will spend the rest of its life believing that its stupid." To the men who never let other people’s metrics of success become the yardstick with which they measure theirs. It is no coincidence that we are diagrammatically represented by a circle with an arrow on the edge that points out. To all of us who may not always be "there" so that we can always "be there", To every hunter, every fighter, every missionary, To every planter and tiller of a garden of eden, To every warrior, conqueror of territories, every man always going out so he can bring something home. To every provider and protector of his family. Every defender of his domain and representative of God in the lives of his dependants. To every man that choose character over caliber, Every Major General, Lord of the Rings, Lion of the Tribe of his house. To every correcter with a shout, Every tough and tender 9-ribbed carrier of his cross. For every skill, strength, qualification and effort that we put into building meaningful relationships with our women, bonds with our children, and shield through tough times. For every ‘crave’ for success without substituting values. For the unconditional love, unflinching sacrifice, and diehard determination to go places our parents never imagined for themselves. To those who happily lead, as though money, fame and power didn’t exist. To those who stand tall and sit straight, Who understand that it doesn't take a 6-figure to be a Father figure. Happy Father's Day to every man who understands the responsibility and deserves the title. *Happy Father's Day to You and Me.*

We were happy and powerful. But the Europeans came to our country; it was from them that I learned the accomplishments which you appeared to be surprised at my possessing. Our principal acquaintance among the Europeans was a Spanish captain; he promised my father territories far greater than those he now ruled over, treasure, and white women. My father believed him, and gathering his family together, followed him. Brother, he sold us as slaves!” The breast of the negro rose and fell, as he strove to restrain himself; his eyes shot forth sparks of fire; and without seeming to know what he did, he broke in his powerful grasp a fancy medlar-tree that stood beside him. “The master of Kakongo in his turn had a master, and his son toiled as a slave in the furrows of St. Domingo. They tore the young lion from his father that they might the more easily tame him; they separated the wife from the husband, and the little children from the mother who nursed them, and from the father who used to bathe them in the torrents of their native land. In their place they found cruel masters and a sleeping place shared with the dogs!

Anyhow, I drove like my daddy was chasing me, which he did a few times when I was a teenager and I snuck out of the house, and made it to the airport. I stowed away on a plane, which looks a lot more fun in the movies by the way, and made it back home. Most guys would have stopped at that point but Dmitri, being stubborn, called a few times spouting off, so I had my number changed.” “But?” “But, he got my family’s number and started calling them. Which was fine. My aunts and stuff blocked him, but thing is, he showed up on my parents’ doorstep while I was out shopping. My parents are vacationing in Mexico, and so Aunt Cecily had to deal with him.” “They scared her.” She laughed. “Scare my Aunt Cecily? Not in this lifetime. She wields a mean right hook. Daddy’s sister is the one who taught me to fight dirty.” “Something had to have happened to get you banished.” “Well, she was kind of worried about me, on account of me being delicate and stuff.” He couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah, that was my reaction too, but that’s what I get for being the youngest in the family. Teena beat me into the world by like ten seconds. Anyhow, Aunt Cecily would have kept me around, except the goons trampled Mama’s flower garden during one of their kidnapping attempts.” “You got banished over flowers?” “No, I got banished before the goons did any more damage to Mama’s stuff. When my mother cries, Daddy gets a little upset, and when Daddy gets upset, things happen. Dealing with the disposal of bodies is always a pain, and law enforcement really frowns upon murder. And Daddy’s been trying so hard to stay out of jail. Anyhow, for the good of the family, it was strongly suggested I take an extended vacation in the hopes my absence would see Dmitri call off his paid thugs and give up on the whole marriage business.” “Except he realized you took off and followed you here.” A frown creased her brow. “Yeah, which is weird because I was certain I didn’t have a tail.” “Well, you’re going to have one now, twenty-four-seven, until I locate this Dmitri fellow and tell him to get the hell out of pride territory.” -Meena & Leo

No matter how much territory the wolf conquers the lion will still rule the jungle.

I guess I'll wake up tomorrow and find I'm not in Kansas anymore." "You're from Kansas?" Most of Kansas was not a lion fae territory. She'd heard the cobra fae loved to go there, however.

Then again: from the critic's point of view, one of the truly wonderful things about the Star Wars universe is that the territory is so sprawling and borrows from so many sources that it's possible to find just about anything here, if you look hard enough. For example, the story of the original movie can also be summarized as, "A restless young boy chafes at life on the dusty old family farm, until he meets a wizard and is swept away to a wondrous land where he meets some munchkins, a tin man, a cowardly lion and Harrison Ford as the scarecrow.

Constantius would have the lion’s share of territory, holding most of the eastern half of the empire.

If all the leaders are really appointed from above, why would a chief want to annex the territory of another chief?

The lion does not constantly war with the leopard; the horse does not war with the cow; even among themselves they rarely kill each other, no matter how important the issue to them.” “But they would,” said Count Roldero, undaunted. “They would if they could anticipate events. They would if they could work out the rate at which the rival animal is consuming food, breeding, expanding its territory.

It was the savagery of their territory that diminished the clan of humans, like an old blade worked over too many times with the file. Ground down, but still razor sharp. They had lost wives, and daughters, and sons to illness, or some other malady. They lost strong men too. Men they’d known their whole lives, and ridden with for decades, were dead and buried, or at least dead, because they had stood side by side together against one savage brute or another. Worse yet, there was a time when bandits hid out in the bedrock. Human scum. They were the dregs, the cruelest kind of monster, devious and cunning, with a preference for deception.

Mountain Lion moves fluidly, claims adequate rest, nurtures and teaches the young, is fiercely protective, territorial, graceful, walks softly on the Earth, and is highly perceptive to sound and smell. Its golden coat is like the rays of our creative and generative sun. As a transformational symbol, this feline embodies the power of creating what we want. This is balanced with harmonized communication and adaptability. Though an apex predator, the medicine of this animal encourages receptivity and self-reflection. I feared this creature at a deep, primal level, perhaps to be expected when we interface with how powerful we are and take responsibility for what we’ve been given.

The proper question to ask is not “How can Israel be preserved at any cost?” but “How can Israel be preserved into the future?” To this question at this time, no reply is possible except by the sword. The enemy must be dealt such a blow that he will be deterred from striking again, or threatening to strike, for as long as possible. Therefore our objective cannot be mere seizure of land or the swapping of territories of dubious value. It must be the destruction of the Egyptian Army, not in part and not in detail, but totally and in a straight-up fight—tank against tank, plane against plane, man against man.

A lion is not a lion if it is only free to eat, to sleep and to copulate. It deserves to be free to hunt and to choose its own prey; to look for and find its own mate; to fight for and hold its own territory; and to die where it was born—in the wild.

What if two equal lions battle for territory, or for a mate?” “They’ll each size up the other, testing the odds. A lion is more cautious on equal footing, but even then he won’t back down. He has no fear, you see, not as we understand it. He can only be exactly what he is, what his nature dictates, and nothing else.

FROM JACKSON TO HILLARY The full story, however, is told in Steve Inskeep’s recent book Jacksonland, which I will rely on for my subsequent account. “Jackson managed national security affairs in a way that matched his interest in land development,” Inskeep notes. “He shaped his real estate investments to complement his official duties, and performed his official duties in a way that benefited his real estate interests.”16 As Inskeep shows, typically Jackson would set his eye on a large tract of Indian territory. Then, even before chasing the Indians off that territory, Jackson would send surveyors in to assess the land in terms of its real estate value. Jackson would then alert his cronies, and together they would make a bid to purchase that real estate. In this way Jackson became a Tennessee plantation magnate and one of the largest slave owners in his home state. Jackson was a ruthless con artist who became fabulously wealthy by trading on his political office. Sound familiar? His career illustrates the familiar Democratic story of leaders making sure that when there are spoils to be distributed, the lion’s share goes to them. Obviously not all Democrats use their political positions to get rich, but a number of them, from Jackson himself to Lyndon Johnson to Bill Clinton, certainly did. Jackson’s true modern counterpart—as you have probably figured out by now—is Hillary Clinton. Their stories are closely parallel. If Hillary started out “dead broke,” as she claims she did, after her husband’s presidency, so did Jackson begin with nothing as an orphan. Neither of them became successful through starting and running a successful business. Rather, they cashed in on their political influence. Just as Jackson made money on land deals stemming from his success as a general, Hillary too figured out ways to enrich herself through her government positions, becoming fabulously wealthy in just a few years.

The friendlier the territory, the scarier the natives.

Rhea was, admittedly, no more our Great Mother than the great love-goddess was ours alone. Amongst our Oriental neighbours, in Asia Minor and Syria and in regions still farther east, it is not always easy to distinguish between the two.) In Asia Minor, especially, Rhea was worshipped as Meter ereia, “Mountain-mother”, to mention one of her many names, which were almost always formed from the name of a mountain and indicated a relationship to a mountain landscape—such names as Berekyntia, Dindymene, Idaia. In the territory of Asia Minor, from which her cult was spread and, indeed, often came back to us, she was called, in Phrygia, Matar Kubile, which in our language is Kybele. She can be recognised in the Cretan Mistress of the Beasts, who appears, flanked by two lions, on the summit of a mountain. Her well-known enthroned figure, however, she first acquired as Phrygian Mother of the Gods. She usually wears a rampart-crown, like a city on her head, and plays with a lion or drives a chariot drawn by lions.

Seven hundred chipmunks don't make a lion. You can never build an excellent practice by trying to effect mass religious conversions among the chipmunks. Excellence may be the ultimate liberation, but it limits you to expending your efforts in search of like-minded excellence. Knowing this, and accepting it as a governing reality of your work, is actually the beginning of a business plan. It tells you to forget about 'market share,' and about the percentage of advisors in your territory who are doing business with you, which are the pure essence of chipmunk statistics.... There are, in your territory, a hundred lifers who can become your partners.... One can only help people who believe they can be helped. Seeing is believing, yes, but it's also true that believing is seeing. A true lifer's clients are happy with him, his advice and his service because if they're not, he shows them the door.... Disciplined diversification is the incredibly courageous decision to forego any chance of making a killing, in exchange for the lif-saving blessing of never getting killed.... Act as if. Fake it 'til you make it. Even if you fear you're not a peer yet, do what a peer does, and keep doing it until you're accepted as a peer.... Confucius said, "It matters not how slowly you go, it matters only that you do not stop."... Mark Twain said that a cat, having once walked on a hot stove, would never walk on a hot stove again... nor on a cold stove. [That's how you get people to overcome regret-based fear.]

P-22 just may be the Neil Armstrong of his kind. A quick glance at his route on a map shows he had to be a bit mad to even attempt his journey. To get to his new territory of Griffith Park, he must cross two of the busiest freeways in the United States. Imagine soft, padded paws fitted for bounding over snow and boulders touching the asphalt of the first eight-lane highway, known as one of the worst roads in the country. Even in the middle of the night, the 405 never slows, and the highway thrums with mechanical noise and explodes with the mad dance of headlights. When faced with the living, breathing monster of the 405, most cats do an abrupt about-face, or get mangled by a few tons of moving steel. But P-22, with his tenacity, or luck, or both, somehow manages to cross. There is no way of knowing how he navigates the formidable obstacle of the road, whether he uses an under- or overpass or bolts straight across. All have been attempted by other cats, and many haven’t lived to tell the tale.