Quotes About Dance

In the dance, one finds the cinema, the comic strips, the Olympic hundred meters and swimming, and what's more, poetry, love and tenderness.

The dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music, and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable. Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.

Making of poetry, music, dance and art as culture-making in the service of nation-making. You can find writings that make that purpose for art quite explicit.

Language, thought, analysis, art, dance, poetry, mythmaking: these are the things that point the way toward the realm of the eschaton.

I want to whisper poetry into your mind and imprint love letters to your soul and dance with you in an empty white room of potential

Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.

Music rots when it gets too far from the dance. Poetry atrophies when it gets too far from music.

The essentials of poetry are rhythm dance and the human voice.

A wise man once said, never discuss philosophy or politics in a disco environment.

My politics are short and sweet, like the old woman's dance.

Vampire politics make the very complicated dance of manners that is werewolf protocol look like the Hokey Pokey.

Life is not logic, life is not philosophy. Life is a dance, a song, a celebration! It is more like love and less like logic.

If you desire a joyful heart, dance daily.

If people listen to music and dance every day, they find happiness and sacred solutions to any problem.

If you dance daily, you will find strength within thy soul.

The sky is but a looking glass into a pool of airless oceans, cast off into a dance of light and energy, leaving only a facet of guidance to navigate. Such an existence lays but within the mind man.

O autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof, there thou mayst rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe, And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,Folk dance like a wave of the sea.

Imagining in excited reverieThat the future years had come,Dancing to a frenzied drum,Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance?

A daughter of a King of Ireland, heard A voice singing on a May Eve like this, And followed half awake and half asleep, Until she came into the Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue. And she is still there, busied with a dance Deep in the dewy shadow of a wood, Or where stars walk upon a mountain-top.

At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit, Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame, Where blood-begotten spirits come And all complexities of fury leave, Dying into a dance, An agony of trance, An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.

Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame.

I warrant you, if he danced till doomsday, he thought I was to pay the piper.