At the still point, there the dance is.

This world we live in is the dance of the creator. Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye, but the dance lives on.

Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper.

We dance for laughter, we dance for tears, we dance for madness, we dance for fears, we dance for hopes, we dance for screams, we are the dancers, we create the dreams.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

We have sought for firm ground and found none.
The deeper we penetrate, the more restless becomes the universe; all is rushing about and vibrating in a wild dance.

We watch a sunlight dust dance,
and we try to be that lively,
but nobody knows what music those particles hear.

Each of us has a secret companion musician to dance to.
Unique rhythmic play, a motion in the street we alone know and hear.

Our interactions with one another reflect a dance between love and fear.

In the mind there is a continual play of obscure images which coming between the eyes and their prey seem pictures on the screen at the movies. Sometimes there appears to be a maladjustment. The wish would be to see not floating visions of unknown purport but the imaginative qualities of the actual things being perceived accompany their gross vision in a slow dance, interpreting as they go. But inasmuch as this will not always be the case one must dance nevertheless as he can.

‎Dancing is not just getting up painlessly, like a leaf blown on the wind; dancing is when you tear your heart out and rise out of your body to hang suspended between the worlds.

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.

We are dancing in the hollow of nothingness. We are one flesh, but separated like stars.

Standing on the fringes of life... offers a unique perspective. But there comes a time to see what it looks like from the dance floor.

This whole world is wild at heart and weird on top.