We do not own the freshness of the air or the sparkle of the water. How can you buy them from us?

Take nothing but memories, leave nothing but footprints!

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them? Every part of the Earth is sacred to my people, every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people.

When the green hills are covered with talking wires and the wolves no longer sing, what good will the money you paid for our land be then

Humans merely share the Earth. We can only protect the land, not own it.

There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring, or the rustle of an insect's wings. But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter only seems to insult the ears.

Like a man who has been dying for many days, a man in your city is numb to the stench.