Crowfoot

 

 

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A little while and I will be gone from among you," he said. "Whither, I cannot tell. From nowhere we came; into nowhere we go. What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time. It is as the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

 

Chef Blackfoot, né vers 1821, sur son lit de mort en 1890

 

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