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

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

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.

I am here by the will of the Great Spirit, and by his will I am chief.

I am, as they say, the classic starving artist.

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?