Good Words Do Not Last Long Unless

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.

I Am Tired Of Talk That Comes To Nothing It Makes My Heart Sick When I Remember All The Good Words And All The Broken Promises. There Has Been Too Much Talking By Men Who Had No Right To Talk. It Does Not Require Many Words To Speak The Truth.

I Have Asked Some Of The Great White Chiefs Where They Get Their Authority To Say To The Indian That He Shall Stay In One Place, While He Sees White Men Going Where They Please. They Cannot Tell Me.

We Were Contented To Let Things Remain As The Great Spirit Chief Made Them. They Were Not; And Would Change The Rivers And Mountains If They Did Not Suit Them.

Finest Fur May Cover Toughest Meat.