All creation is one. What we do to one, we do to the entire web of life.

The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful Earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the Earth and it is part of us.

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.

Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit

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

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