Coyotes have the gift of seldom being seen; they keep to the edge of vision and beyond, loping in and out of cover on the plains and highlands. And at night, when the whole world belongs to them, they parley at the river with the dogs, their higher, sharper voices full of authority and rebuke. They are an old council of clowns, and they are listened to.

If you believe in the power of words, you can bring about physical changes in the universe.

In the beginning was the word, and it was spoken.

The Kiowas reckoned their stature by the distance they could see.

Your imagination comes to life, and this, you think, is where Creation was begun.

I sometimes think the contemporary white American is more culturally deprived than the Indian.

Writing engenders in us certain attitudes toward language. It encourages us to take words for granted. Writing has enabled us to store vast quantities of words indefinitely. This is advantageous on the one hand but dangerous on the other. The result is that we have developed a kind of false security where language is concerned, and our sensitivity to language has deteriorated. And we have become in proportion insensitive to silence.