A house without children is a graveyard.

Perhaps you have noticed that even in the slightest breeze you can hear the voice of the cottonwood tree; this we understand is its prayer to the Great Spirit, for not only men, but all things and all beings pray to Him continually in different ways.

Where there is a will, there is a way.

History does not furnish a case of the elevation of a people by ignoring the thought and aspiration of the people thus served.

When you clench your fist, no one can put anything in your hand, nor can your hand pick up anything.

We are all one child spinning through Mother Sky.