A brand-new pair of toe shoes presents itself to us as an enemy with a will of its own that must be tamed.

If a man can possess a woman sexually -really possess- he won't need to control her ideas, her opinions, her clothes, her friends, even her other lovers.

We live only to dance. If living were not an essential prerequisite, we would abstain.

I recognized it immediately the first time it happened - the cackle of the crone. It is the sound of a woman who is caught inside the mystery of the universe, in the irony of the angst, in the place ego abhors. Bliss.

Dancing may not be the perfect substitute for love, human love, but it certainly requires all the time and thought and energy that could otherwise be dedicated to love.

To live and to laugh require a reason. But dancing is so close to one's guts that it has no reason and yet it needs none; it's physical, and as a source of good cheer it is end endless.

A toe shoe is as eccentric as the ballerina who wears it: their marriage is a commitment.