
I was neither a wee girl nor a tall one; neither a wild Indian nor a tame one.
Zitkála-Šá[2]
With the white man's Bible in my hand, and the white man's tender heart in my breast, I returned to my own people.
Zitkála-Šá[4]

No, I will not submit! I will struggle first!
Zitkála-Šá[6]
What loyal son is he who, returning to his father’s people, wears a foreigner’s dress?
Medicine man[4]
Here, my child, are the white man's papers.
Zitkála-Šá's mother[6]
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