Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

Poetry is to prose as dancing is to walking

Look around at everybody. Dancing is cheaper than therapy.

Doeg, though without knowing how or why, Made a still a blundering kind of melody; Spurr'd boldly on, and dash'd through thick and thin, Through sense and nonsense, never out nor in; Free from all meaning whether good or bad, And in one word, heroically mad.

Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls, must dive below.

Dance is the hidden language of the soul