My school and my tribe are so poor and sad that we have to study from the same dang books our parents studied from. That is absolutely the saddest thing in the world.
I have come to believe over and over again that what is most important to me must be spoken, made verbal and shared, even at the risk of having it bruised or misunderstood. That the speaking profits me, beyond any other effect. . . . what I most regretted were my silences. Of what had I ever been afraid?. . . Death on the other hand, is the final silence. . . my silences had not protected me. Your silences will not protect you.