“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?”

God made me an Indian.

I have killed, robbed, and injured too many white men to believe in a good peace. They are medicine, and I would eventually die a lingering death. I had rather die on the field of battle.

The white man knows how to make everything, but he does not know how to distribute it.

If a man loses anything and goes back and looks carefully for it, he will find it.

Behold, my friends, the spring is come; the earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun, and we shall soon see the results of their love!

I know Great Spirit is looking down upon me from above, and will hear what I say.

There are things they tell us that sound good to hear, but when they have accomplished their purpose they will go home and will not try to fulfill our agreements with them.

What white man can say I never stole his land or a penny of his money? Yet they say that I am a thief.

Each man is good in His sight. It is not necessary for eagles to be crows.

Inside of me there are two dogs. One is mean and evil and the other is good and they fight each other all the time. When asked which one wins I answer, the one I feed the most.

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.

I was very sorry when I found out that your intentions were good and not what I supposed they were.

What white woman, however lonely, was ever captive or insulted by me? Yet they say I am a bad Indian.

As individual fingers we can easily be broken, but all together we make a mighty fist.

Strangely enough, they have a mind to till the soil, and the love of possessions is a disease in them.

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.