Best 1364 quotes in «dancing quotes» category

It's about that applause I want to speak to you. I want you to remember that when you've done a little dance or a song or sketch, the applause which you get is not only because you yourself have done your best, but because each of those men is seeing in you someone he loves at home, and because of you is able to forget for a little while the unhappiness of not being in his home, and in some cases the great tragedy of not knowing what has happened to the children in his family.

It's better to dance like a fool, than to stand around like an idiot.

It's like they've forgotten everything important, isn't it? I mean, forgotten things like cats and dancing exist.

It takes two to tango, and if you dance too long, implosion is inevitable.

I turned myself into an artist because then my life would be about creating meaning out of ugliness and that would be my life, and it was noble. It was the beginning of a journey, the creating of the world every single day and I was not bored. I was ecstasy and creation and nothingness turned into melodies and I was dancing with the spirits.

I twirl away, then back to him, staying on my toes, my hips always lightly rotating. He reacts clumsily at first, but soon the awkwardness fades away and he begins matching my movements, reflecting them in reverse. We dance like this, wrist to wrist, twirl and turn, step for step, for several more minutes. He holds my gaze, our eyes connecting at every turn, anticipating one another’s movements. His pulse is so strong against my wrist that it echoes through me, almost like a heartbeat of my own. My skin warms; my breath catches in my throat. I know how closely I dance along the line of destruction, but I cannot pull myself away. He is intoxicating, his force of life an addiction I cannot refuse. I have not felt this alive in centuries, not since you, Habiba, when you taught me the dance of Fahradan. Ours was a dance of giddy laughter, a dance of friends, sisters, a dance of life and youth and hope. But this dance is different. It is not I but he who entices, reversing the ancient roles of the dance. And I resist because I must, because if I don’t, because if I give in to the all-too-human desires racing through me—then it is Aladdin who will pay the terrible price. “Stop.” I drop my wrists and step away, and he does the same, still caught up in mirroring me. Except that he is breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with exertion, his eyes filled with a strange, wondrous, curious look as he stares at me. He moves closer, his eyes fixed on mine, and despite myself I cannot look away. Aladdin raises a tentative hand to my cheek. Immobile with both dread and longing, I can only stare up at him, flushing with warmth when he gently runs his hand down the side of my face. I shut my eyes, leaning into his touch just slightly, my stomach leaping. Longing. Wishing.

I used to move gracefully. I used to know the word grace to the center of my bones. Now I seek it every day and fall short, inevitably, every day. I lost grace.

I want your scent to intoxicate my passions to the point where lust is merely a word, dancing upon our flames of desire...

I watched them dancing and masquerading with somebody else's wings

I was watching while you're dancing away, our love got fractured in the echo and sway. How come everybody wants to be your friend? You know that it still hurts me just to say it.

I will not stop singing the Muses who set me dancing.

Lupita thought that people who didn’t dance were selfish and lonely.

Modern party-dance is simply writhing to suggestive music. It is ridiculous, silly to watch and excruciatingly embarrassing to perform. It is ridiculous, and yet absolutely everyone does it, so that it is the person who does not want to do the ridiculous thing who feels out of place and uncomfortable and self-conscious . . . in a word, ridiculous. Right out of Kafka: the person who does not want to do the ridiculous thing is the person who is ridiculous. [...] Modern party-dance is an evil thing.

M. and I ground against each other as if we were ill-fitting jigsaw pieces determined to jam together, even though one showed sidewalk, the other sky.

Mister Geoffrey, my experiment shows that the dynamo and the bulb are both working properly," I said. "So why won't the radio play?" "I don't know," he said. "Try connecting them here." He was pointing toward a socket on the radio labeled "AC," and when I shoved the wires inside, the radio came to life. We shouted with excitement. As I pedaled the bicycle, I could hear the great Billy Kaunda playing his happy music on Radio Two, and that made Geoffrey start to dance. "Keep pedaling," he said. "That's it, just keep pedaling." "Hey, I want to dance, too." "You'll have to wait your turn." Without realizing it, I'd just discovered the difference between alternating and direct current. Of course, I wouldn't know what this meant until much later. After a few minutes of pedaling this upside-down bike by hand, my arm grew tired and the radio slowly died. So I began thinking, "What can do the pedaling for us so Geoffrey and I can dance?

More wine for me, pour me some more!" "You smart girl, I knew you're a smart girl, just teasing...” Faces turn red, the dark earth blood is rising. They wink at Pelka, wink at the host: "He knows his goods!" The women feel the buttons constricting them - they undo one, another, a third. By twos the guests go outside to get some air. "Well, my dear guests, are you soaked to the gills? Eh? And now-to dance! Get lively!" The table and the chairs vanish. The middle of the room is empty. Ivan the Monk jumps out of his hole, a tambourine in his hands: "Tim-ta-a-am! Tim-ta-a-am!" “Eh-hey!" the redhead suddenly snatches the tambourine and sweeps off, tapping wildly in a circle. Eyes closed: a white sleepless sun-a white night on the meadow-white columns of smoke swaying over fires... "Eh-ah!"-to whirl herself to death, to whirl out everything, to empty herself - nothing has ever been... Heavy boots are thumping on the floor, beards fly in the wind, the frock-coat tails go flying... hey, get going, faster, faster - a hundred versts an hour! ("The North")

Moving my body ignites my bliss. I say yes to movement!

Music was not so very different from mathematics. It was all just patterns and sequences. The only difference was that they hung in the air instead of on a piece of paper. Dancing was a grand equation. One side was sound, the other movement. The dancer's job was to make them equal.

Music makes my soul happy.

Music is the soul food.

Music does not need language of words for it has movements of dance to do its translation.

Near the end of his life he went into a tirade about people who had been "disloyal" to him, triggered by the most recent defection.

My feet were keeping in time with the music, but my heart was pounding out a different rhythm altogether.

My lips are fierce with passion. My heart spins fiery beats. A rhythm lives within my fingers and dances in my feet.

Nature [provides] with the excitement of the dance in the interest of the reproduction of the species.

Now of all the bonds between homosexual friends, none was greater than that between friends who danced together. The friend you danced with, when you had no lover, was the most important person in your life; and for people who went without lovers for years, that was all they had.

Not wanting to be seen, I shrunk back into the shadows, when I heard a friendly voice ask, “Sind sie allein Fraulein? Warum tanzen sie nicht.” I couldn’t believe that I was being asked by this handsome German Naval Officer if I was alone and why I wasn’t dancing. When I tried to explain, he interjected by saying, “I too am alone. Would you dance with me?” I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t resist his offer to dance. Stepping out onto the dance floor I could see Richard on the other side of the room looking in my direction. I really couldn’t resist being a little naughty as I feigned flirtatious girlish laughter, while whirling in the arms of this gallant, dapper, and oh-so-handsome Naval Officer. Captain Dönitz concluded our dance in typical German fashion, by clicking his heels and kissing my hand. Later that evening Richard reluctantly apologized for his behavior. I could understand that he had been totally engrossed with his duties and decided to forgive the incident and move on. That evening quite a number of the cadets had also asked me for a dance. I felt flattered but decided that I would be loyal to Richard. Later in Germany, Richard loved to tell this story to friends and family or anyone else that would listen.

Now I don’t know how many people like to drive a Beetle at that kind of speed (on purpose) but I know I’d rather go down Brickmaker’s Kloof on a bicycle with no brakes! Driving any car at that speed in anything other than an expensive German luxury car on a long, straight autobahn is enough of a risk (let alone the risk of hitting anything) – but if you try that with a Beetle and add a light crosswind, factor in some rubber peeling off your tire, and you’ll more than likely find yourself dancing alone in a dark corner without any music.

One should never go dancing with a broken foot, but one should with a broken heart.

Oh, thank you, I thought, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Dancing was stressful—but murderous demigods, those I could deal with.

One should dance while one still can.

On the great canvas of time We all create our own masterpiece. Choreographing our steps across minutes and hours Dancing over the days Painting pictures over months and Writing our stories on the years. Singing our songs that echo across eons. We are all a thread in the talent tapestry. A snapshot in the cosmic, collective collage.

Only when I'm dancing can I feel this free.

People whose dancing have brought joy to our hearts are born once in a century. We had MJ.

Our body is a sacred temple A place to connect with people. As we aren't staying any younger We might as well keep it stronger.

Our movements flow, a little awkwardly at first, but then we move together – the drum beat beckoning quicker steps, more passionate turns, closer touches, and glances traded as our eyes meet mid-dance. I wonder if Selena is watching but in this moment, it really doesn’t matter. I can’t recall having such an intriguing dance partner who has won me over so fast, and who I find myself wanting to touch even more. I barely know his name and I sense I should get to know him better first. In fact, I’m certain I want to.

Pat, it's not sexual – it's modern dance.

People don't care about perfection when they want to be entertained.

Please don't sing and dance," I whisper, but it's too late. He's snapping his fingers and doing this sexy groove to the music. It should look really stupid - and it kind of does - but with his tight abs and his tattoos and piercings, it's really just...precious.

plucking sense from a liar’s tongue is rather like dancing on fire to embrace scarring.

Plato forbids children wine till eighteen years of age, and to get drunk till forty; but, after forty, gives them leave to please themselves, and to mix a little liberally in their feasts the influence of Dionysos, that good deity who restores to younger men their gaiety and to old men their youth...fit to inspire old men with mettle to divert themselves in dancing and music; things of great use, and that they dare not attempt when sober.

Put down your glass, it is time to dance. If you want to get drunk all you need is to drink love. Put down your pipe and do away with these childish toys. If you want to get high all you need is to breathe love. Now, can I have this dance?

“Would you like to?” he says. His voice is hardly audible above the wind—so low it’s barely a whisper. “Would I like to what?” My heart is roaring, rushing in my ears, and though there are still several inches between his hand and mine, there’s a zipping, humming energy that connects us, and from the heat flooding my body you would think we were pressed together, palm to palm, face to face. “Dance,” he says, at the same time closing those last few inches and finding my hand and pulling me closer, and at that second the song hits a high note and I confuse the two impressions, of his hand and the soaring, the lifting of the music. We dance.

Quigley (to Duane): My business is not your business, whether you ask after it in Tainish or interpretive dance.

Rachel got up and did this happy little shuffle, like she was some cheerful farmer chick who'd just stepped outside to find the hick she was in love with coming up the road with a calf under his arm or whatever. Why was she dancing? No reason. Just alive, I guess.

Scent is such a powerful tool of attraction, that if a woman has this tool perfectly tuned, she needs no other. I will forgive her a large nose, a cleft lip, even crossed-eyes; and I’ll bathe in the jouissance of her intoxicating odour.

Robbing ourselves of the great pleasures in life only makes us perform worse. We need to be happy, and do things we like doing if we want to excel in whatever it is we're focusing on.

Sam and I had lived together for many months at this point, and I thought I’d gotten to know her pretty well. I realized I was wrong after watching her dance. I can’t really describe it any better than that I felt like I was taking a peek at someone else’s soul. Not much ever makes me feel like that.

Saul had gained his six-foot frame at sixteen, but his muscles didn’t arrive until his early twenties. Between those lost years, he was a gangly, uncoordinated klutz. He was told that he could improve his dancing by watching himself in the mirror. He tried. What he saw was so repulsive that he resolved never to inflict himself on a dance partner. These days, Saul hid those memories behind weight lifting and jogging. His new athletic physique hid his aimless decade as an outsider, an odd and lonely kid--as he remembered it.

She is now dancing with someone else to the song that reminded me of us.