ballet

This book's like black holes. It really engulfes you whole.

But it's this one boy, hanging over a barre, sharing his history, who ended up here with me, in this moment, by pure fate. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

Spirit is a child, the tune of dancing feet its lullaby.

Afterwards Isabelle often wondered if the moments themselves were greater or the memory of them. At least the memory did not pass, while the moments passed all too fast. Life whizzed by; she no longer had time to recollect it. Her notebooks to this day retain the story of her desperate attempt to hold together her self, her mind, her reason, her order, her morals.

He can hum the music in his old man's quivering voice, but he prefers it in his head, where it lives on in violins and reedy winds. If he imagines it in rehearsal he can remember every step of his three-minute solo as if he had danced it only yesterday, but he knows, too, that one time, onstage in Berlin, he had not danced it as he had learned it; this much he knows but cannot recreate, could no recreate it even a moment after he had finished dancing it. While dancing he had felt blind to the stage and audience, deaf to the music. He had let his body do what it needed to do, free to expand and contract in space, to soar and spin. So, accordingly, when he tries to remember the way he danced it on stage, he cannot hear the music or feel his feet or get a sense of the audience. He is embryonic, momentarily cut off from the world around him. The three most important minutes of his life, the ones that determined his fate and future, are the three to which he cannot gain access, ever.

Miss Dearheart gave him a very brief look, and shook her head. There was movement under the table, a small fleshy kind of noise and the drunk suddenly bent forward, colour draining from his face. Probably only he and Moist heard Miss Dearheart purr: __hat is sticking in your foot is a Mitzy __retty Lucretia_ four-inch heel, the most dangerous footwear in the world. Considered as pounds per square inch, it__ like being trodden on by a very pointy elephant. Now, I know what you__e thinking: you__e thinking, __ould she press it all the way through to the floor?_ And, you know, I__ not sure about that myself. The sole of your boot might give me a bit of trouble, but nothing else will. But that__ not the worrying part. The worrying part is that I was forced practically at knifepoint to take ballet lessons as a child, which means I can kick like a mule; you are sitting in front of me; and I have another shoe . Good, I can see you have worked that out. I__ going to withdraw the heel now.__here was a small __op_ from under the table. With great care the man stood up, turned and, without a backward glance, lurched unsteadily away.__an I bother you?_ said Moist. Miss Dearheart nodded, and he sat down, with his legs crossed. __e was only a drunk,_ he ventured.__es, men say that sort of thing,_ said Miss Dearheart.

O wayfarer! Yearn finds quench, not in meadows, seashores or altitude of mountain peaks; but when being becomes dance.

When a dancer performs, melody transforms into a carriage, expressions turn into fuel and spirit experiences a journey to a world where passion attains fulfillment.

If spirit is the seed, dance is the water of its evolution.

O wayfarer! Yearn finds quench, not in meadows, seashores or altitude of mountain peaks; but when being and dance are one.

Limit not to only five, when the divine gifts the supreme sixth; the sense of dance

Dance is that delicacy of life radiating every particle of our existence with happiness.

Dance is the ritual of immortality.

Life is an affair of mystery; shared with companions of music, dance and poetry.

Transcend the terrestrial; surpass the celestial, from nature__ hands when you receive the sublime pleasures of dance.

DANCE _ Defeat All Negativity (via) Creative Expression.

Dance as the narration of a magical story; that recites on lips, illuminates imaginations and embraces the most sacred depths of souls.

She who is a dancer can only sway the silk of her hair like the summer breeze.