You Don't Pick Dance. Dance

The Next Time You Look Into The Mirror, Just Look At The Way The Ears Rest Next To The Head; Look At The Way The Hairline Grows; Think Of All The Little Bones In Your Wrist. It Is A Miracle. And The Dance Is A Celebration Of That Miracle.

All Things I Do Are In Every Woman. Every Woman Is Medea. Every Woman Is Jocasta. There Comes A Time When A Woman Is A Mother To Her Husband. Clytemnestra Is Every Woman When She Kills.

Some Of You Are Doomed To Be Artists.

The Spine Is The Tree Of Life. Respect It.

A Dancer, More Than Any Other Human Being, Dies Two Deaths: The First, The Physical When The Powerfully Trained Body Will No Longer Respond As You Would Wish. After All, I Choreographed For Myself. I Never Choreographed What I Could Not Do. I Changed Steps In Medea And Other Ballets To Accommodate The Change. But I Knew. And It Haunted Me. I Only Wanted To Dance.