“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.”

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.

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.

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

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

The singing of hymns and the rendition of selections from the great sacred oratorios by ward choirs all enhance the spirit of worship.

Through the sacred art of pausing, we develop the capacity to stop hiding, to stop running away from our experience. We begin to trust in our natural intelligence, in our naturally wise heart, in our capacity to open to whatever arises.

Your sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again.

It is your birthright to discover your sacred contract. It will guide you to find your divine destiny.

Write me as if I were already a poem. Pen the stanzas as if storms and ships could birth something sacred. Color it a religious experience.

Rules are not necessarily sacred, principles are.

Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the Beloved.

The body is a sacred garment. It’s your first and last garment; it is what you enter life in and what you depart life with, and it should be treated with honor.