Today is fair. Tomorrow may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land. The white man will never be alone.
Youth is impulsive.
When our young men grow angry at some real or imaginary wrong, it denotes their hearts are black. We are part of the earth and the earth is part of us. There is no quiet place in the white man s cities, no place to hear the leaves of spring or the rustle of insects wings. Perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand, but the clatter only seems to insult the ears. My people resemble the scattering trees of a storm swept plain.