“I’m too tired to be angry enough
Angry that I can’t go anyplace
without seeing demeaning images and outright lies about Indian people
I’m livid that we can’t even keep the few pitiful acres we have left
if they happen to have uranium or copper or coal.”

“I'm angry that I can't sleep that I hate myself
that I can’t write as well as I want
because I’m so damn angry I can’t breathe
Furious that nobody else seems to be angry
and they don’t want me to be either
Enraged at this whole sodden rotting mess they keep calling
civilization
as it poisons the air and the water and kills everyone in it’s way.”

“I’m real excited. I’m so blessed to have so much peace and joy inside. I just can’t keep quiet about it.”

“I am so tired of acronyms in Washington. I can’t stand it. I cannot stand it. But I’m going to have to learn, aren’t I?”

““Now I’m going to make you angry again.”
“Really?” I asked, drily. “Aren’t you getting tired of that?””

“I am extremely angry, and I have no problems with saying that. You know, there comes a time when it’s all right to be angry. That’s how I feel. And I’m sure that the people that you see, no matter what you think about what they’re doing, and no matter how we would not like to see that kind of violence, you can understand the anger.”

“I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.”

“Now I’m going to make you angry again.”

“If you’re going to worry about anything, Gideon, it should be me. Because I can’t be rational when it comes to you. I’m crazy about you. Literally. I can’t think about a future without you— it freaks me out.”

“I’ve never once thought about how I was going to die,” she said. “I can’t think about it. I don’t even know how I’m going to live.”