Sometimes you have to protect the life of the play. It seems like spelling out mysterious, musical details can destroy a play by making the motivations too clear, too simplex.

And it is always Easter Sunday at the New York City Ballet. It is always coming back to life. Not even coming back to life - it lives in the constant present.

The power of the past to still dominate our thinking today.

I think of the New York City Ballet as the Yankees without George Steinbrenner.

You can read ten books and finally come across one detail, and it's like, "now everything else makes sense. Now I know where I am."

What we're dealt with hopefully is two arms, two eyes, two legs, a head, a heart. The variations, the extensions, the possibilities of the human body, what that can do

I only do business with the people I do business with. The people I do business with find out I do business with the people I don't do business with.... I can't do business with you.