Dance is the hidden language of the soul

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.

The way you dress is how you greet the sun and other stars.

The internet in general and social networking sites in particular are making people more reclusive than social.

The will to label will always prevail over what's being labeled, usually at the expense of either truth or understanding

If we put ourselves behind and put what's more important in front, we will know what to do.

the rule of Nobody ... is what the political form known as bureaucracy truly is.

I was painting furniture, learning to stencil, and explore all kinds of traditional techniques of decoration. I learned from books that I picked up.

One never knows what life may have in store for us, and it's always good to know where the emergency exit is.

I paint for the sole purpose of magnifying the privilege of being alive.

Being afraid something is true is accepting the possibility. Accepting the possibility is the first step to believing.

Sunshine of late afternoon-- On the glass tray a glass pitcher, the tumbler turned down, by which a key is lying--And the immaculate white bed