They were tall; they were larger than the people today.

Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.

From yon blue heaven above us bent, the grand old gardener and his wife smile at the claims of long descent.

I am no herald to inquire into men's pedigree; it sufficeth me if I know their virtues.

Noble ancestry makes a poor dish at table.

I don't know who my grandfather was; I am much more concerned to know what his grandson will be.

There is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.

It is of no consequence of what parents any man is born, so that he be a man of merit.

Although we have it easier than our forefathers, we have more uneasiness.

When I make my father's face with clay below the window in twilight the mysterious lineage of blood whispers.

The man without a navel still lives in me.

All blood is alike ancient.

[The] Hopi earth does contain my roots and I am, indeed, from that land. Because the roots are there, I will find them. But when I find them, [my father] said, I must rebuild myself as a Hopi. I am not merely a conduit, but a participant. I am not a victim, but a woman.

I have lived in the redness of the stones that mark a path through my blood; I am the descendant of a forgotten race, but I carry in my hands the remnants of their fire.

If you want to understand me come, bend over this soul of Africa in the black dock-worker's groans the Chope's frenzied dances the Changanas' rebellion in the strange sadness which flows from an African song, through the night.

If today I had a young mind to direct to start on the journey of life and I was faced with the duty of choosing between the natural way of my forefathers and that of the white man's present way of civilization, I would, for its welfare, unhesitatingly set that child's feet in the path of my forefathers. I would raise him to be an Indian!

No man beholds his mother's womb Yet who denies it's there? Coiled To the navel of the world is that Endless cord that links us all To the great Origin. If I lose my way. The trailing cord will bring me to the roots.

Let us listen to the voices of our Forebears ... In the smoky cabin, souls that wish us well are murmuring.

I must hide him in my inmostveins The Ancestor ... He is my faithful blood that demands fidelity Protecting my naked pride against Myself and the scorn of luckier races.

Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.