You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive.
Caution not spirit, let it roam wild; for in that natural state dance embraces divine frequency.
True love is like little roses, sweet, fragrant in small doses.
I was a ballet dancer and that kind of bled into musical theater. I was constantly in rehearsal for one thing or another.
I grew up in San Francisco, and I trained as a ballet dancer until college.
I still love to see the ballet. And I love to boogie.
I was a protege; by the age of 10, I was studying with ballet choreographer Anthony Tudor in a class of adults.
I went to an all-boys school, where I played rugby, so ballet wasn't the coolest thing to do.
The ballet world, it's a crazy world.
When other little girls wanted to be ballet dancers I kind of wanted to be a vampire.
I grew up studying ballet; I grew up honing my craft.
With classical ballet you are literally injuring yourself.
All ballet, all reading, all music. That was my world, my inner world.
The eternal and uneasy relationship between ballet and modern dance endures, but radically altered in tone and intensity.
My proficiency with ballet was on a steep decline the more I skated.
In ballet class, I felt like Ralph Wiggum.
Twyla Tharp set her sights on ballet, and ballet, hungry for major talent, succumbed.
My mum was a costume designer and costume supervisor in the theater and, especially, the ballet. But that was before I was born.
Ballet is sort of a mystery to me. And I don't want to unravel that mystery.