My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain...There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory.

Take nothing but memories, leave nothing but footprints!

The white man will never be alone. Let him be just, and deal kindly with my people. For the dead are not powerless.

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