The body says what words cannot.

What I do must be done in the sunlight of awareness.

Dance is the hidden langauge of the soul, of the body.

Censorship is the height of vanity.

My dancing is not an attempt to interpret life in the literary sense. It is an affirmation of life through movement.

No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a strange, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.

The body is your instrument in dance, but your art is outside that creature, the body. I don't leap and jump anymore. I look at young dancers, and I am envious, more aware of what glories the body contains. But sensitivity is not made dull by age.