We soon found that the white men were growing rich very fast, and were greedy.

When my young men began the killing, my heart was hurt.

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.

When I think of our condition, my heart is heavy. I see men of my own race treated as outlaws and driven from country to country, or shot down like animals.

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.

All people should be treated the same way on earth.

I am not a child, I think for myself. No man can think for me.