We Soon Found That The White Men

I Believe Much Trouble And Blood Would Be Saved If We Opened Our Hearts More. I Will Tell You In My Way How The Indian Sees Things. The White Man Has More Words To Tell You How They Look To Him, But It Does Not Require Many Words To Speak The Truth.

We Live, We Die, And Like The Grass And Trees, Renew Ourselves From The Soft Earth Of The Grave. Stones Crumble And Decay, Faiths Grow Old And They Are Forgotten, But New Beliefs Are Born. The Faith Of The Villages Is Dust Now... But It Will Grow Again... Like The Trees.

Good Words Do Not Last Long Unless They Amount To Something.

I Am Tired Of Talk That Comes To Nothing.

The Earth Is The Mother Of All People, And All People Should Have Equal Rights Upon It.