A dancer must listen to his body and pay homage to it. Behind the movement lies this terrible, driving passion, this necessity. I won't settle for anything less.

Our arms start from the back because they were once wings.

Great dancers are not great because of their technique, they are great because of their passion.

The body says what words cannot.

Movement never lies. It is a barometer telling the state of the soul's weather to all who can read it.

I feel that the essence of dance is the expression of man--the landscape of his soul. I hope that every dance I do reveals something of myself or some wonderful thing a human can be.

The body is a sacred garment. It's your first and last garment; it is what you enter life in and what you depart life with, and it should be treated with honor.

Dance is the hidden langauge of the soul, of the body.

Misery is a communicable disease.

Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance. Great dancers are great because of their passion.

No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a strange, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.

Madness is freedom and some may only perceive its Insanity.

Genius and sunshine have this in common that they are the two most precious gifts of heaven to earth, and are dispensed equally to the just and the unjust.

As far as mental development is concerned, we should never be complacent. We can develop our minds infinitely - there is no limitation.

My grandma would quote Abraham Lincoln all the time: "Whatever you do in life, be a good one."

That is especially important as more young people must take on huge debt loads to go to college.

When you are working on a script, the story itself is not difficult. You say this would happen and then this, resulting perhaps in this. And the dialogue you make as true as you can.

As they say in Discworld, we are trying to unravel the Mighty Infinite using a language which was designed to tell one another where the fresh fruit was.

It is not fun singing about losing somebody like that, but at the same time it was easy to write because the memories were so real and vivid and so much a part of who I am.

O death where is thy sting? The man is never on time.

In poetry, only emotion endures.