When the last deer disappears into the morning mist, When the last elk vanishes from the hills, When the last buffalo falls on the plains, I will hunt mice for I am a hunter and I must have my freedom.

If the white man wants to live in peace with the Indian he can live in peace.

An Indian respects a brave man, but he despises a coward.

Some of you think an Indian is like a wild animal. This is a great mistake.

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.

My father was the first to see through the schemes of the white man.

We did not know there were other people besides the Indian until about one hundred winters ago, when some men with white faces came to our country.