Sitting Bull

They made us many promises, more than I can remember, but they never kept but one; they promised to take our land, and they took it.

Our religion seems foolish to you, but so does yours to me. The Baptists and Methodists and Presbyterians and the Catholics all have a different God. Why cannot we have one of our own?

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

I hate all white people. You are thieves and liars. You have taken away our land and made us outcasts.

You come here to tell us lies, but we don’t want to hear them.

The white man’s religion is written on stone so he can’t change it, but ours is written in our hearts.

I will remain what I am until I die, a hunter, and when there are no buffalo or other game, I will send my children to hunt and live on prairie mice, for where an Indian is shut up in one place his body becomes weak.

The white man is not our brother, but our enemy.

The whites may get me at last, but I will have good times till then.