I pressed my father's hand and told him I would protect his grave with my life. My father smiled and passed away to the spirit land.

Whenever the white man treats the Indian as they treat each other, then we will have no more wars. We shall all be alike-brothers of one father and one another, with one sky above us and one country around us, and one government for all.

The eye tells what the tongue would hide.

We gave up some of our country to the white men, thinking that then we could have peace. We were mistaken. The white man would not let us alone.

You might as well expect rivers to run backwards as any man born free to be contented penned up.

I have asked some of the great white chiefs where they get their authority to say to the Indian that he shall stay in one place, while he sees white men going where they please. They cannot tell me.

Good words will not give my people good health and stop them from dying. Good words will not get my people a home where they can live in peace and take care of themselves. I am tired of talk that comes to nothing. It makes my heart sick when I remember all the good words and broken promises.