All Men Were Made By The Great

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.

My Father... Had Sharper Eyes Than The Rest Of Our People.

I Labored Hard To Avoid Trouble And Bloodshed.

If The White Man Wants To Live In Peace With The Indian, He Can Live In Peace. There Need Be No Trouble. Treat All Men Alike. Give Them All The Same Law. Give Them All An Even Chance To Live And Grow.

Words Do Not Pay For My Dead People.