You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that single fleeting moment when you feel alive.

He seems to be supporting her tenderly. But what holds them together is difficult to pin down.

In her memoir, she wrote that he once dropped her on her hip very painfully, and she had the distinct impression he’d done it on purpose.

What really goes on between two people is very difficult to say.

My dance classes were open to anybody, my only stipulation was that they had to come to the class every day.

One of the keys for being a positive influence on other people is to keep your complaints and negativity in your head and out of your mouth.

Real men don't lift weights, they lift women.

I feel his arm
Lightly
Over me.
He takes one of my outstretched hands.
Draws it beneath my stomach.

"One more time..."

This is not sex,
Not friendship.
Something
Strange
Special
In the stillness of his breath,
The waterlike way he moves.

He is making a dance.
We are making a dance.