Good words will not give me back my children.
Look twice at a two-faced man.
A man who would not love his father's grave is worse than a wild animal.
Words do not pay for my dead people.
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.
We soon found that the white men were growing rich very fast, and were greedy.