“The dance is a poem of which each movement is a word.”

I have encountered in this world riff-raff and good people. I lose. I win. I defend myself when I am attacked. I take when someone has taken from me. But I beg you to believe me; I have never done an act of espionage against France. Never. Never.

My dance is a sacred poem in which each movement is a word and whose every word is underlined by music. The temple in which I dance can be vague or faithfully reproduced, for I am the temple.

Everything is an illusion.

I was not content at home. . . I wanted to live like a colorful butterfly in the sun.

Death is nothing, nor life either, for that matter. To die, to sleep, to pass into nothingness, what does it matter? Everything is an illusion.

I am a woman who enjoys herself very much; sometimes I lose, sometimes I win.

What’s swinging in words? If a guy makes you pat your foot and if you feel it down your back, you don’t have to ask anybody if that’s good music or not. You can always feel it.

John Calvin comments on today’s passage: God is only rightly served when his law is obeyed. It is not left to every man to frame a system of religion according to his own judgment, but the standard of godliness is to be taken from the Word of God.

Jazz is a word they use to sell our music, but to me that word does not exist.

His power has never abated. His Word has never changed.

The people will always have the last word – even if someone has a very weak, quiet voice. Such power will collapse because of a whisper.

The feeling that was born that night, how could i describe it?Words like love or lust just don’t seem right.

On becoming more acquainted with the word of the Bible, I began to understand so much more of what I had been taught, and of what I had learned about life and about the people in mine.

I huff and puff and struggle with every sentence, paragraph and page – sometimes every word as well.