#dan

You can't dance cheerfully. Dancing is too important. It can be wild or solemn or gay or lewd or art for art's sake, but it can't be cheerful. ↗

— Rex Stout

#art

To understand what I am saying, you have to believe that dance is something other than technique. We forget where the movements come from. They are born from life. When you create a new work, the point of departure must be contemporary life -- not existing forms of dance. ↗

— Pina Bausch

#life

In liberating Iraq, we have rid the nation and the rest of the world from the danger of Saddam Hussein. ↗

— Elizabeth Dole

#hussein #iraq #liberating #nation #rest

In her dance, she controlled the bright paper birds with invisible wires and threads. She played the human: heavy, tied to earth. Her dances weren't pretty or delightful, but they were magical, [...] They called her a dancer and a puppeteer and an artist. They might have called her a witch, and not the good kind either. ↗

— Katherine Catmull

#birds #dances #dancing #human #magic

Change is the only constant in the universe. ↗

— Jim Fargiano

#guidance #happiness-life #spiritual #change

They're power-hungry, the mundane said of the magical people. They're immoral, people said, and they're scary. Playing with the dark arts could plunge me into evil. I'd be pulled toward depravity. Blasphemy would begin to seem like truth, bad like good, God like Satan. It had happened to people through the centuries, they said. And they were right. All that did happen. ↗

— Christine Wicker

#evil #magical-people #mundanes #art

THIS IS MY LIFE. When I'm sad, I draw, I sing, I dance, I write, I read. When I'm happy, I draw, I sing, I dance, I write, I read. When I'm blank, I draw, I sing, I dance, I write, I read. ↗

— Olivia Sinaga

#dance #draw #happy #life #live

I don't use a crap camera, I don't eat junk, and I'm not going to a dance where the boys are bores ↗

— Adriana Trigiani

#boys #dance #humor #attitude

My beautiful soul,"he murmured and caressed my cheek."When you have the ultimate selfless sacrifice it paid my wrong.You proved to be worthy of my devotion.Of Death's...love. ↗

— Abbi Glines

#beauty

For some reason, the sight of snow descending on fire always makes me think of the ancient world – legionaries in sheepskin warming themselves at a brazier: mountain altars where offerings glow between wintry pillars; centaurs with torches cantering beside a frozen sea – scattered, unco-ordinated shapes from a fabulous past, infinitely removed from life; and yet bringing with them memories of things real and imagined. These classical projections, and something in the physical attitudes of the men themselves as they turned from the fire, suddenly suggested Poussin’s scene in which the Seasons, hand in hand and facing outward, tread in rhythm to the notes of the lyre that the winged and naked greybeard plays. The image of Time brought thoughts of mortality: of human beings, facing outwards like the Seasons, moving hand in hand in intricate measure: stepping slowly, methodically, sometimes a trifle awkwardly, in evolutions that take recognisable shape: or breaking into seeminly meaningless gyrations, while partners disappear only to reappear again, once more giving pattern to the spectacle: unable to control the melody, unable, perhaps, to control the steps of the dance. ↗

— Anthony Powell

#dance #music #time #art