Catholics From The United States

"Just like Chief Seattle talked about being in the web of life, in India we talk about vasudhaiva kutumbkam, which means the earth family. Indian cosmology has never separated the human from the non-human—we are a continuum."

"In this moment of spiritual triumph we can see why the film (Follow Me Home) begins with a quotation of words by Chief Seattle, when he said that after the last red man was gone the land would still be filled with their spirits: "The white man will never be alone." Is this a promise (as heard by some people of color) or a threat (as heard by some whites) or simply a truth that we should all heed?"

"What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from great loneliness of spirit, for whatever happens to the beasts also happens to the man."

"The Earth does not belong to man; man belongs to Earth. Man did not weave the web of life; he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself."

"Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect."

"You must teach the children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth, befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves."

"If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that the ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells us events and memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father. The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our cannoes, feed our children. If we sell our land, you must learn, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother."

"The perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man - all belong to the same family. This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors."

"The sap which courses through the trees carries the memory of the red man."

"Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people."

"How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land?"

"Today is fair. Tomorrow may be overcast with clouds. My words are like the stars that never change."

"Tribe follows tribe, nations follow nations like the tides of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless."

"Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only change of worlds."

"We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of the land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy - and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers' graves, and his children’s birthright is forgotten."

"Every part of all this soil is sacred to my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hollowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. The very dust you now stand on responds more willingly to their footsteps than to yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch."

"I feel passionate about things. And I feel things deeply, and that's always the way I've been taught, right from the beginning, that the deeper you feel something the better the acting.....and then it's also the person you're playing. If you're playing someone who's upset or yelling, that's what you gotta do. That's the job."

"I remember watching Gene Hackman, or Robert Duvall. To just see them as actors. You think of them as these icons. But you see them mess up their lines, flub their lines, whatever, you just see the human being. But then when they're "in" it's totally about playing pretend. The game of it."

"My people are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a storm-swept plain...There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory."

"There is no strange and distant place That is not gladdened by His face. And every nation kneels to hail The Splendour shining through Its veil."

"David is the song upon God's lips, And Our Lady is the goblet that He sips: And 's the breath of His command, But Saint Michael is the sword in God's right hand. The is fair to see, And may her walls encompass me! But when the Devil comes with the thunder of his might, Saint Michael, show me how to fight!"

"O Mother of Good Counsel, lend Intelligence to me! Encompass me with wisdom, Thou Tower of Ivory! "This is the Man of Lies," she says, "Disguised with fearful art: He has the wounded hands and feet, But not the wounded heart.""

"He comes, and his face is sad and mild, With thorns his head is crowned; There are great bleeding wounds in his feet, And in each hand a wound. How can I tell, who am a fool, If this be Christ or no? Those bleeding hands outstretched to me! Those eyes that love me so!"

"Oh, he can be the forest, And he can be the sun, Or a buttercup, or an hour of rest When the weary day is done. I saw him through a thousand veils, And has not this sufficed? Now, must I look on the Devil robed In the radiant Robe of Christ?"

"At the foot of the Cross on Calvary Three soldiers sat and diced, And one of them was the Devil And he won the Robe of Christ."

"The title of poet's a noble thing, worth living and dying for, Though all the devils on earth and in Hell spit at me their disdain. It is stern work, it is perilous work, to thrust your hand in the sun And pull out a spark of immortal flame to warm the hearts of men: But Prometheus, torn by the claws and beaks whose task is never done, Would be tortured another eternity to go stealing fire again."

"When you say of the making of ballads and songs that it is woman's work You forget all the fighting poets that have been in every land."

"Lord Byron and Shelley and Plunkett, McDonough and Hunt and Pearse See now why their hatred of tyrants Was so insistently fierce. Is Freedom only a Will-o'-the-wisp To cheat a poet's eye? Be it phantom or fact, it's a noble cause In which to sing and to die!"

"There is joy over disappointment And delight in hopes that were vain. Each poet is glad there was no cure To stop his lonely pain. For nothing keeps a poet In his high singing mood Like unappeasable hunger For unattainable food."

"For blows on the fort of evil That never shows a breach, For terrible life-long races To a goal no foot can reach, For reckless leaps into darkness With hands outstretched to a star, There is jubilation in Heaven Where the great dead poets are."

"Your eyes, that looked on glory, could discover The angry scar to which the world was blind: And it was grief that made Mankind your lover, And it was grief that made you love Mankind."

"Because Mankind is glad and brave and young, Full of gay flames that white and scarlet glow, All joys and passions that Mankind may know By you were nobly felt and nobly sung. Because Mankind's heart every day is wrung By Fate's wild hands that twist and tear it so, Therefore you echoed Man's undying woe, A harp Aeolian on Life's branches hung."

"Love is made out of ecstasy and wonder; Love is a poignant and accustomed pain. It is a burst of Heaven-shaking thunder; It is a linnet's fluting after rain."

"The song within your heart could never rise Until love bade it spread its wings and soar."

"But, of your courtesy, Monsignore, Do me this favour: When you this morning make your way To the Ivory Throne that bursts into bloom with roses because of her who sits upon it, When you come to pay your devoir to Our Lady, I beg you, say to her: "Madame, a poor poet, one of your singing servants yet on earth, Has asked me to say that at this moment he is especially grateful to you For wearing a blue gown.""

"Loving her, Monsignore, I love all her attributes; But I believe That even if I did not love her I would love the blueness of her eyes, And her blue garment, made in the manner of the Japanese."

"Her soul's light shines through, But her soul cannot be seen. It is something elusive, whimsical, tender, wanton, infantile, wise And noble."

"It seems appropriate to me to state According to a venerable and agreeable custom, That I love a beautiful lady. Her eyes, Monsignore, Are so blue that they put lovely little blue reflections On everything that she looks at, Such as a wall Or the moon Or my heart."

"There is no rope can strangle song And not for long death takes his toll. No prison bars can dim the stars Nor quicklime eat the living soul."

"Unlock the door this evening And let your gate swing wide, Let all who ask for shelter Come speedily inside. What if your yard be narrow? What if your house be small? There is a Guest is coming Will glorify it all."

"They say that life is a highway and its milestones are the years, And now and then there's a toll-gate where you buy your way with tears. It's a rough road and a steep road and it stretches broad and far, But at last it leads to a golden Town where golden Houses are."

"God be thanked for the Milky Way that runs across the sky, That's the path that my feet would tread whenever I have to die. Some folks call it a Silver Sword, and some a Pearly Crown, But the only thing I think it is, is Main Street, Heaventown."

"O Carpenter of Nazareth, Whose mother was a village maid, Shall we, Thy children, blow our breath In scorn on any humble trade? Have pity on our foolishness And give us eyes, that we may see Beneath the shopman's clumsy dress The splendor of humanity!"

"This man has home and child and wife And battle set for every day. This man has God and love and life; These stand, all else shall pass away."

"The scene shall never fit the deed. Grotesquely wonders come to pass. The fool shall mount an Arab steed And Jesus ride upon an ass."

"For, once he thrilled with high romance And tuned to love his eager voice. Like any cavalier of France He wooed the maiden of his choice. And now deep in his weary heart Are sacred flames that whitely burn. He has of Heaven's grace a part Who loves, who is beloved in turn."

"Perhaps he lives and dies unpraised, This trafficker in humble sweets, Because his little shops are raised By thousands in the city streets. Yet stars in greater numbers shine, And violets in millions grow, And they in many a golden line Are sung, as every child must know."

"He is the lord of goodly things That make the poor man's table gay, Yet of his worth no minstrel sings And on his tomb there is no bay."

"Here is a shop of wonderment. From every land has come a prize; Rich spices from the Orient, And fruit that knew Italian skies, And figs that ripened by the sea In Smyrna, nuts from hot Brazil, Strange pungent meats from Germany, And currants from a Grecian hill."

"When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm Across green fields and yellow hills of hay The little twittering birds laugh in his way And poise triumphant on his shining arm. He bears a sword of flame but not to harm The wakened life that feels his quickening sway And barnyard voices shrilling "It is day!" Take by his grace a new and alien charm. But in the city, like a wounded thing That limps to cover from the angry chase, He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing, And wanly mock his young and shameful face; And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring In many a high and dreary sleeping place."