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“Watching large mammals living their ordinary life in the jungle is extraordinary”
― Antonio Rossano Mendes Pontes, Amazonia and Other Forests of Brazil

“When we came out of the cookhouse, we found the boy's father, the Indian man who had been grazing the horses in the pasture, waiting for us. He wanted someone to tell his troubles to. He looked about guardedly, afraid that the Señora might overhear him.

'Take a look at me' he said. I don't even know how old I am. When I was young, the Señor brought me here. He promised to pay me and give me a plot of my own. 'Look at my clothes' he said, pointing to the patches covering his body. 'I can't remember how many years I've been wearing them. I have no others. I live in a mud hut with my wife and sons. They all work for the Señor like me. They don't go to school. They don't know how to read or write; they don't even speak Spanish. We work for the master, raise his cattle and work his fields. We only get rice and plantains to eat. Nobody takes care of us when we are sick. The women here have their babies in these filthy huts.'

'Why don't you eat meat or at least milk the cows?' I asked.

'We aren't allowed to slaughter a cow. And the milk goes to the calves. We can't even have chicken or pork - only if an animal gets sick and dies. Once I raised a pig in my yard' he went on. 'She had a litter of three. When the Señor came back he told the foreman to shoot them. That's the only time we ever had good meat.'

'I don't mind working for the Señor but I want him to keep his promise. I want a piece of land of my own so I can grow rice and yucca and raise a few chickens and pigs. That's all.' 'Doesn't he pay you anything?' Kevin asked. 'He says he pays us but he uses our money to buy our food. We never get any cash. Kind sirs, maybe you can help me to persuade the master . Just one little plot is all I want. The master has land, much land.'

We were shocked by his tale. Marcus took out a notebook and pen. 'What's his name?'. He wrote down the name. The man didn't know the address. He only knew that the Señor lived in La Paz.

Marcus was infuriated. 'When I find the owner of the ranch, I'll spit right in his eye. What a lousy bastard! I mean, it's really incredible'. 'That's just the way things are,' Karl said. 'It's sad but there's nothing we can do about it.”
― Yossi Ghinsberg, Jungle: A Harrowing True Story of Survival

“In marked contrast to the relaxed, typically Latin attitude of the Dominicans the Protestant missionaries were still proceeding at full blast with the fight for souls. These North American evangelists of strictly fundamentalist inclination combined in a curious fashion strict adhesion to the literal meaning of the Old Testament With mastery of the most modern technology. Most of them came from small towns in the Bible Belt, armed with unshakably clear consciences and a rudimentary smattering of theology, convinced that they alone were the repositories of Christian values now abolished elsewhere. Totally ignorant of the vast world, despite their transplantation, and taking the few articles of morality accepted in the rural Amenca of their childhoods to be a universal credo, they strove bravely to spread these principles of salvation all around them.
Their rustic faith was well served by a flotilla of light aircraft, a powerful radio, an ultra-modern hospital and four-wheel-drive vehicles -- in short, all the equipment that a battalion of crusaders dropped behind enemy lines needed.”
― Philippe Descola, The Spears of Twilight: Life and Death in the Amazon Jungle

“What's the story here, Karl?' Kevin asked.

'Hard as it is to believe, these people are slaves,' Karl explained.

'Slaves?' I asked skeptically.
'Well, you might not call them that but they are virtual slaves. They don't receive any pay. They are dealt with harshly. They don't have anywhere else to go'
'What about the government? Don't they help?' Marcus asked.
'The government?' Karl laughed. 'The government my eye! Those generals stay in power several years, make a bundle smuggling drugs, and once they're millionaires, they retire. Some other lousy generals take over from them, and history repeats itself. You think they give a shit what happens to a few lousy Indians?”
― Yossi Ghinsberg, Jungle: A Harrowing True Story of Survival

“Arkady Fiedler pisaÅ‚, że gdy do ziemi nad AmazonkÄ… wetknąć parasol, to po dwóch miesiÄ…cach zakwitnie. Nieprawda, Nie zakwitnie. Ale dość szybko tuż obok niego wyroÅ›nie drugi.”
― Wojciech Cejrowski

“â€� o termo “rios voadores da Amazôniaâ€� designa a enorme quantidade de água processada pelas árvores e lançada na natureza em forma de umidade. â€� A selva funciona como uma gigantesca bomba d’água que capta água do solo e a lança na atmosfera em forma de vapor, e as correntes de ar se encarregam de espalhar pelo mundo. Uma única árvore de modestos 10 metros de altura transpira em média 300 litros de água por dia, e uma mais frondosa, com a copa mais avantajada, de 20 metros de diâmetro, pode liberar até 1.000 litros. Imaginem a quantidade de líquido precioso produzida pelos milhões e milhões de árvores da Amazônia.

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Uma parte desse vapor se transforma em chuvas que caem sobre a própria floresta, a outra fica à mercê dos ventos. Estima-se que a quantidade de água transportada pelos rios voadores seja igual ou superior à vazão do rio Amazonas. São 200 mil metros cúbicos de água por segundo. Na prática, a maior parte dos rios voadores são direcionados pelos ventos para o oeste até o paredão de 5 mil metros de altura formado pela Cordilheira dos Andes. O resultado desse represamento gigantesco são as enormes precipitações de chuva e neve, que dão origem às nascentes de vários rios, entre eles a do próprio Amazonas. Outra parte é ricocheteada pelas montanhas para o interior do continente, e abastece fartamente de água o Centro-Oeste, o Sudeste e o Sul do continente. Esse fenômeno explica por que no restante do mundo, nessa mesma latitude, encontramos grandes desertos, enquanto na América do Sul predomina um clima muito favorável para a agricultura. A combinação da floresta tropical amazônica com a Cordilheira dos Andes forma um dos maiores celeiros do mundo. Sem floresta, não haveria rios voadores, a umidade cairia a níveis desérticos e o ar ficaria muito mais quente. Seria um completo desastre para o clima e para a agricultura brasileira e mundial.”
― Ilko Minev, Nas Pegadas da Alemoa