It Does Not Take Many

Is It Wrong For Me To Love My Own? Is It Wicked For Me Because My Skin Is Red? Because I Am Sioux? Because I Was Born Where My Father Lived? Because I Would Die For My People And My Country?

God Made Me An Indian.

The White Man Knows How To Make Everything, But He Does Not Know How To Distribute It.

This Nation Is Like A Spring Freshet; It Overruns Its Banks And Destroys All Who Are In Its Path.

If I Agree To Dispose Of Any Part Of Our Land To The White People I Would Feel Guilty Of Taking Food Away From Our Children's Mouths, And I Do Not Wish To Be That Mean.