Living is a form of not being sure, not know what next or how... The artists never entirely knows.

The universe lies before you on the floor, in the air, in the mysterious bodies of your dancers, in your mind. From this voyage no one returns poor or weary.

To make up a dance, I still need, as I needed then, a pot of tea, walking space, privacy and an idea.

Who am I?, the artist asks. And he devotes his whole life to finding out.

Many other women have kicked higher, balanced longer, or turned faster. These are poor substitutes for passion.

The choreographic process is exhausting. It happens on one's feet after hours of work, and the energy required is roughly the equivalent of writing a novel and winning a tennis match simultaneously.

The creative urge is the demon that will not accept anything second rate.