Movements Are As Eloquent As Words.

It Seems To Me Monstrous That Anyone Should Believe That The Jazz Rhythm Expresses America. Jazz Rhythm Expresses The Primitive Savage.

The Wind? I Am The Wind. The Sea And The Moon? I Am The Sea And The Moon. Tears, Pain, Love, Bird-flights? I Am All Of Them. I Dance What I Am. Sin, Prayer, Flight, The Light That Never Was On Land Or Sea? I Dance What I Am.

Any Woman Or Man Who Would Write The Truth Of Their Lives Would Write A Great Work. But No One Has Dared To Write The Truth Of Their Lives.

There Are Likewise Three Kinds Of Dancers: First, Those Who Consider Dancing As A Sort Of Gymnastic Drill, Made Up Of Impersonal And Graceful Arabesques; Second, Those Who, By Concentrating Their Minds, Lead The Body Into The Rhythm Of A Desired Emotion, Expressing A Remembered Feeling Or Experience. And Finally, There Are Those Who Convert The Body Into A Luminous Fluidity, Surrendering It To The Inspiration Of The Soul.

When I Was Sixteen, I Danced Before An Audience Without Music. At The End Someone Suddenly Cried 'its Death And The Maiden'. But That Was Not My Intention; I Was Only Endeavoring To Express My First Knowledge Of The Underlying Tragedy In All Seemingly Joyous Manifestation. The Dance According With My Comprehension, Should Have Been Called 'life And The Maiden'.