You See, When Weaving A Blanket, An

I Did Not Choose To Be A Dancer. I Was Chosen.

One Can Always Lament, You Know — But To Laugh In The Face Of Life, That's Very Hard. And For Me The Great Tragedian Should Also Be A Great Comedian.

In A Dancer, There Is A Reverence For Such Forgotten Things As The Miracle Of The Small Beautiful Bones And Their Delicate Strength.

The Body Is Your Instrument In Dance, But Your Art Is Outside That Creature, The Body.

I Am Absorbed In The Magic Of Movement And Light. Movement Never Lies. It Is The Magic Of What I Call The Outer Space Of The Imagination.