432 Quotes About Native-american

But the effects were hidden, evident only in the sterility of their art, which continued to feed off the vitality of other cultures, and in the dissolution of their consciousness into dead objects: the plastic and neon, the concrete and steel. Hollow and lifeless as a witchery clay figure. And what little still remained to white people was shriveled like a seed hoarded too long, shrunken past its time, and split open now, to expose a fragile, pale leaf stem, perfectly formed and dead.

She whirls around and around in her red English stockings and white moccasins, her cloak of wampum and feathers flying out around her like the wings of a great hawk.

Our individual consciousnesses were sieves of the divine. We could only know what our minds could encompass safely.

Sarah (Winnemucca) is best known for her 1883 autobiography, Life among the Piutes: Their Wrongs and Theirs Claims, the first memoir writen and published by a Native American woman. Her story begins; 'I was born somewhere near 1844, but am not sure of the precise time. I was a very small child when the first white people came to our country. They came like a lion, yes, like a roaring lion, and have continued to do so ever since, and I have never forgotten their first coming.

They say that perhaps it is not by love, but by blood, that land is bought. They say that perhaps my people had to die to nourish this earth with their truth. Your people did not have ears to hear. Perhaps we had to return to the earth, so that we could grow within your hearts. Perhaps we have come back and will fill the hills and valleys with our song. Who is to know?

Mackenzie, our profession courts death, madness is always just over the next rise, the next hillock…” Sherman’s voice dropped off, “I’m out in that landscape wavering between madness and sanity. Be careful Mackenzie you don’t cross over that rise and find yourself in the arid desert of madness … I fear it is this desert for me.

He turned his attention towards the previous speaker and mumbled again in a language Violet could not understand.“It must be a sign from the Creator. The prophecy… it has come true.

Violet, wake up! You are not in some pre-colonial, pre-internet hellhole. WAKE UP! But no matter how many times she rubbed her eyes or pinched herself to the point of almost bleeding, she was still there, on that same dirt floor, on the same animal pelt, still trying not to look at that one boy.Was she a captive to these people?Was she some sort of prisoner?

You do not understand what has happened to you… what I did to you.” he said sternly. Cold fright swelled in her stomach. What happened after she felt the pain? It was all blank.“What did you do to me?” She whispered.“You are a wolf now, Violet. A part of our pack.”“What? What the hell do you mean I’m a wolf?” She demanded.“You are half wolf, a Skin Walker. In human words… I believe you say werewolf.