Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors - the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.
Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless.
Man does not weave this web of life. He is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
Whatever Seattle says, the great chief at Washington can rely upon with as much certainty as he can upon the return of the sun or the seasons.
My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain.
Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man's God cannot love our people, or He would protect them.
