Is it wrong for me to love my own? Is it wicked for me because my skin is red? Because I am Sioux? Because I was born where my father lived? Because I would die for my people and my country?
You come here to tell us lies, but we don't want to hear them. If we told you more, you would have paid no attention. That is all I have to say.
I know Great Spirit is looking down upon me from above, and will hear what I say.
When I was a boy, the Sioux owned the world. The sun rose and set on their land; they sent ten thousand men to battle. Where are the warriors today? Who slew them? Where are our lands? Who owns them?
I hardly sustain myself beneath the weight of white men's blood that I have shed. The whites provoked the war; their injustices, their indignities to our families, the cruel, unheard of and wholly unprovoked massacre at Fort Lyon ... shook all the veins which bind and support me. I rose, tomahawk in hand, and I have done all the hurt to the whites that I could.
I surrender this rifle to you through my young son, whom I now desire to teach in this manner that he has become a friend of the Americans. I wish him to learn the habits of the whites and to be educated as their sons are educated. I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle. This boy has given it to you, and he now wants to know how he is going to make a living.
What white man can say I never stole his land or a penny of his money? Yet they say that I am a thief.
God made me an Indian.
If I agree to dispose of any part of our land to the white people I would feel guilty of taking food away from our children's mouths, and I do not wish to be that mean.
This is a good day to die. Follow me!
What does it matter how long I pray, so long as my prayers are answered?
Every seed is awakened, and all animal life.
Go back home where you came from. This country is mine, and I intend to stay here and to raise this country full of grown people.
You think I am a fool, but you are a greater fool than I am.
I was very sorry when I found out that your intentions were good and not what I supposed they were.
Each man is good in the sight of the Great Spirit.
I do not wish to be shut up in a corral. All agency Indians I have seen are worthless. They are neither red warriors nor white farmers. They are neither wolf nor dog.
Strangely enough, they have a mind to till the soil, and the love of possessions is a disease in them.
What white man has ever seen me drunk? Who has ever come to me hungry and left me unfed? Who has seen me beat my wives or abuse my children? What law have I broken?
Only seven years ago we made a treaty by which we were assured that the buffalo country should be left to us forever. Now they threaten to take that from us also.
What treaty that the whites have kept has the red man broken? Not one.
This nation is like a spring freshet; it overruns its banks and destroys all who are in its path.
I am a red man. If the Great Spirit had desired me to be a white man he would have made me so in the first place.
Now that we are poor, we are free. No white man controls our footsteps.
The meat of the buffalo tastes the same on both sides of the border.
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