She walks like a ballerina in dance slippers, her feet as articulate as hands, a little vessel of grace moving out into the fog.

When a sincere woman begins to dance, the seven heavens, the earth, and all creatures begin to dance.

Like a ballet dancer, she keeps me on my toes. This dance we're doing, it keeps me so fit I know she's a perfect fit for me.

And she is going to dance, dance hungry, dance full, dance each cold astonishing moment, now when she is young and again when she is old.

She's a walkin', talkin' reason to live.

Everytime I move, I make a woman's movement.

She moved with an impenetrable beauty, as if she was performing a solemn ritual.

I noticed that she wore her evening dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes-there was a jauntiness about her movements as if she had first learned to walk upon a golf course on clean, crisp, mornings.

El orgullo de quien se cree hermosa daba a su andar un ritmo insolente.

She gave the impression that she had somehow slipped off her leash. As though she was taking herself for a walk while the rest of us were being walked – like pets.

Well, here is one who, whatever her defects, probably does what she believes as nearly as possible.

Well, she's walking through the clouds, with a circus mind that's running wild.

A woman I have never seen before
Steps from the darkness of her town-house door
At just that crux of time when she is made
So beautiful that she or time must fade.

What use to claim that as she tugs her gloves
A phantom heraldry of all the loves
Blares from the lintel? That the staggered sun
Forgets, in his confusion, how to run?

Still, nothing changes as her perfect feet
Click down the walk that issues in the street,
Leaving the stations of her body there
Like whips that map the countries of the air.

To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love