Listen, sister. I don't dance and I can't take time out now to learn.
(Frank W. Wead (1895?-1947), U.S. screenwriter, and John Ford. Lt. Rusty Ryan (John Wayne), They Were Expendable, reply to nurse Lt. Sandy Davis (Donna Reed), who invites him to a dance (1945).
Based on the book by William L. White.)
The same people who are murdered slowly in the mechanized slaughterhouses of work are also arguing, singing, drinking, dancing, making love, holding the streets, picking up weapons and inventing a new poetry.
(Raoul Vaneigem (b. 1934), Belgian situationist philosopher. The Revolution of Everyday Life, ch. 5 (1967, trans. 1983).)
It is no doubt possible to flybut first you must know how to dance like an angel.
(Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900), German philosopher, classical scholar, critic of culture. Friedrich Nietzsche, Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe, vol. 10, p. 552, selection 17, eds. Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari, Berlin, de Gruyter (1980). Unpublished fragments dating to Fall 1883.)
We look at the dance to impart the sensation of living in an affirmation of life, to energize the spectator into keener awareness of the vigor, the mystery, the humor, the variety, and the wonder of life. This is the function of the American dance.
(Martha Graham (1894-1991), U.S. dancer, choreographer. "The American Dance," Modern Dance, ed. Virginia Stewart (1935).)
Remember to take the best dancing master at Berlin, more to teach you to sit, stand, and walk gracefully, than to dance finely. The Graces, the Graces; remember the Graces!
(Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl Chesterfield (1694-1773), British statesman, man of letters. letter, Jan. 10, 1749, Letters Written by the Late Right Honourable Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl, Earl of Chesterfield, to his Son, Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl, Esq, 5th ed., vol. II, p. 132, London (1774).)
When I dance, I dance; when I sleep, I sleep; yes, and when I walk alone in a beautiful orchard, if my thoughts have been dwelling elsewhere, I bring them back to the walk, to the orchard, to the sweetness of this solitude, and to me.
(Michel de Montaigne (1533-1592), French essayist. "Of Experience," The Essays (Les Essais), bk. III, ch. 13, Abel Langelier, Paris (1588).)