Native American Literature Quotes

“Being Indian has never been about returning to the land. The land is everywhere or nowhere.”
― Tommy Orange, There There

“Pain expanded my heart.”
― Terese Marie Mailhot, Heart Berries

“I prayed. He was going home, and I wanted to pray. Look out for me, I said; look out each day and listen for me. And we were going together on horses to the hills. We were going to ride out in the first light to the hills. We were going to see how it was, and always was, how the sun came up with a little wind and the light ran out upon the land. We were going to get drunk, I said. We were going to be all alone, and we were going to get drunk and sing. We were going to sing about the way it always was. And it was going to be right and beautiful. It was going to be the last time. And he was going home.”
― N. Scott Momaday, House Made of Dawn

“It was a good day to die, but nobody did.”
― Stephen Graham Jones, The Bird is Gone: A Manifesto

“We are only atoms trailing the carved skull wrapped inside a sunbeam.”
― Sherwin Bitsui

“I walk out into the open, never dreaming of what I'd see. I sat on a tree and saw Mother Nature crying to me. When I looked around, I knew the pain She felt. All the trees lifeless on the ground. She cries and asks me, 'How?' She continued, 'It's gone. I had to say goodbye to my grass, trees, and little animals, too. This was once beautiful and I was happy, but now I feel like you.'

(Larissa Ross, student)”
― Timothy P. McLaughlin, Walking on Earth and Touching the Sky: Poetry and Prose by Lakota Youth at Red Cloud Indian School

“. . . what I told Malory happened next is that when he looked over at her then it was like he'd been waiting a hundred years to see her, and this crazy ass Ledfeather girl all the way from Standing Rock, she looked off after the elk and then back at Doby through her hair, like she'd maybe been waiting for him too, but was scared a little, wanted to be sure, so Doby opened his mouth and said her name across the backseat of Junior's cab, Claire, like a flower opening in his mouth, and she held her lips together and nodded thank you to him, yes, thank you, and then swallowed what was in her throat and just let the sides of their hands touch together again some like it didn't really matter.
But it did.”
― Stephen Graham Jones, Ledfeather

“It was a good day to die, but nobody did.”
― Stephen Graham Jonrs

“Indian misery is when somebody takes your land.
Indian misery is when somebody kills your friends.
Indian misery is when your people turn against you.
Indian misery is being slaves to people.
Indian misery is being locked up in jail.
Indian misery is people killing your food for money.
Indian misery is fighting. Indian misery is no peace.
Indian misery is when you get killed. Indian misery is if you lose the fight.

(Andrew Herman, student)”
― Timothy P. McLaughlin, Walking on Earth and Touching the Sky: Poetry and Prose by Lakota Youth at Red Cloud Indian School

“What the roses are saying cannot be heard through voice
but through beauty as you watch the rain slip
from their petals and hang from their edges.

(Dena Colhoff, student)”
― Timothy P. McLaughlin, Walking on Earth and Touching the Sky: Poetry and Prose by Lakota Youth at Red Cloud Indian School

“Misery is when you always seem to be getting dressed in black to go to a funeral.
Misery is when you get there and realize that the person who is dead is another close friend.
Misery is when you look around and all your friends are crying.
Misery is when you hear them say they'll try to stop and stay away from this stuff.
Misery is when the next day you see them stocking up in White Clay for a party soon to come.
Misery is whenyou hear the sirens, and you have to sit and wonder whose funeral you'll be attending for the next few days.
Misery is when you realize they'll never stop,
and you'll always be choosing black clothing for the next day.

(Kayla Matthews, student)”
― Timothy P. McLaughlin, Walking on Earth and Touching the Sky: Poetry and Prose by Lakota Youth at Red Cloud Indian School

“Life on
Life on the reservation
Life on the reservation is dirty
Life on the reservation is dirty, filthy
Life on the reservation is dirty, filthy dogs.

(Dena Colhoff, student)”
― Timothy P. McLaughlin, Walking on Earth and Touching the Sky: Poetry and Prose by Lakota Youth at Red Cloud Indian School

“We're boys. That's what we're supposed to do.”
― Dennis E. Staples, This Town Sleeps: A Novel

“This is how our people face death. We walk to the tundra, underneath the sky, and we face death by ourselves. Even the Elders, old, feeble, and minds like children, somehow, they know when the time is near. I suppose I’ll know when it is time.”
― Lily H. Tuzroyluke, Sivulliq: Ancestor

“My husband trudged up the ridge, stumbling, but determined. My children and I watched him until he disappeared over the ridge, out of view, vanishing into the abyss. It wasn’t an extraordinary day, not foggy, not stormy, or a bright day. It was grey and cloudy when a good man and a good father walked up to face death like our people have done for a millennia.”
― Lily H. Tuzroyluke, Sivulliq: Ancestor

“Below deck is suffocating, smelling of sweaty, spermy, unwashed armpits, unwashed groins, moldy wood, bilge water, and the green smell of algae, all congealed in thick streams. I’ve learned to sleep by breathing out of my mouth. On deck, we escape the bed bugs biting away at our skin, clicking cockroaches hiding in the shadows, and the rats gnawing away at every cask. I look forward to the cold sea air.”
― Lily H. Tuzroyluke, Sivulliq: Ancestor

“We’re splicing rope today. Yesterday we cleaned out the trypots, the pots for boiling whale blubber, dry as an old maid in heat, Remigio says.”
― Lily H. Tuzroyluke, Sivulliq: Ancestor

“At the Galapagos Islands, the cook wanted fresh wild pigs. He said we needed fresh meat to last until San Francisco. We tried. We heard pigs squealing on the island, running, large leaves moving as they ran underneath the foliage. Merihim said we’ve no time. So, we killed two large turtles, the biggest I’ve ever seen. The cook dried and cured the meat into jerky.”
― Lily H. Tuzroyluke, Sivulliq: Ancestor

“Gerald and I saw the Azore Islands, Talcahuano, Tumbez, San Francisco, and Nome from afar while the captain and officers rowed to shore for fresh food and fresh whalers. Even at Nome, not two days ago, Gerald and I watched the Alaskan town from the ship.

We saw Talcahuano at night, the town alive with lights and torches. We heard music across the water. People celebrated an event on shore. We thought it might be a wedding. We imagined walking the clay, brick roads, ordering crabs and clams near the sea, sampling the local exotic fruits and plants growing in their vibrant colors and prickly skins, and of course, seducing the dark- skinned indigenous women emanating macadamia oil, musk, and leafy air. Merihim laughed at our children’s eyes and said to act like men, not like guttersnipes at a bakery window.”
― Lily H. Tuzroyluke, Sivulliq: Ancestor

“Four kids in T-shirts and jeans jam on a powwow stage. They’re grinning, bouncing, fully engaged with their music, each other, and the relaxed crowd. I’m splitting fry bread with a cousin as we cheer on the band, and across the tent, a young girl reading a paperback catches my eye.
In that moment, I wish for more characters like those kids in the pages of children’s books.
This anthology is a fulfillment of that wish.”
― Cynthia Leitich Smith, Ancestor Approved: Intertribal Stories for Kids: An Indigenous Collection About Friendship, Heritage, and Pride for Kids

“At school, my science teacher talked about the ozone layer even as aerosol hairspray kept clouding the bathroom stalls. I tried to tell Mom about climate change, but she acted like I was gullible. If I was mad about losing our land, I was even angrier about what they'd done to it. While I still didn't know about the massacres, I knew enough to feel robbed. Manhatten was purchased with beads. Valuable furs had been traded for whiskey. White people used empty promises as tender, and in exchange, we Indians got blood quantum, our lineages tracked like thoroughbreds or dogs, destined to be turned into glue.”
― Deborah Jackson Taffa, Whiskey Tender: A Memoir