Of the SoilOctober 24, 2011
The American Indian is of the soil, whether it be the region of forests, plains, pueblos, or mesas. He fits into the landscape, for the hand that fashioned the continent also fashioned the man for his surroundings. He once grew as naturally as the wild sunflowers; he belongs just as the buffalo belonged.
DreamsOctober 21, 2011
Sometimes dreams are wiser than waking.
If You Kill MeOctober 19, 2011
I am a great chief among my people. If you kill me, it will be like a spark on the prairie. It will make a big fire—a terrible fire.?
WordsOctober 17, 2011
Good words do not last long unless they amount to something. Words do not pay for my dead people. They do not pay for my country, now overrun by white men. They do not protect my father’s grave. They do not pay for all my horses and cattle.
ChiefOctober 14, 2011
I was no chief and never had been, but because I had been more deeply wronged than others, this honor was conferred upon me, and I resolved to prove worthy of the trust.
TwoOctober 12, 2011
All things in the world are two. In our minds we are two, good and evil. With our eyes we see two things, things that are fair and things that are ugly.... We have the right hand that strikes and makes for evil, and we have the left hand full of kindness, near the heart. One foot may lead us to an evil way, the other foot may lead us to a good. So are all things two, all two.
Everything Has a PurposeOctober 10, 2011
Everything on the earth has a purpose, every disease an herb to cure it, and every person a mission. This is the Indian theory of existence.
Born FreeOctober 07, 2011
I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free and there was nothing to break the light of the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures.
HeartOctober 05, 2011
Man's heart, away from nature, becomes hard.
What Is Life?October 03, 2011
A little while and I will be gone from among you, when I cannot tell. From nowhere we came, into nowhere we go. What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.