Samba Dance Quotes

Sometimes in life confusion tends to arise and only dialogue of dance seems to make sense.

If movements were a spark every dancer would desire to light up in flames.

Caution not spirit, let it roam wild; for in that natural state dance embraces divine frequency.

Dance as the narration of a magical story; that recites on lips, illuminates imaginations and embraces the most sacred depths of souls.

Dance is the timeless interpretation of life.

Show me a person who found love in his life and did not celebrate it with a dance.

If spirit is the seed, dance is the water of its evolution.

If you opened the dictionary and searched for the meaning of a Goddess, you would find the reflection of a dancing lady.

Don't breathe to survive; dance and feel alive.

Life is an affair of mystery; shared with companions of music, dance and poetry.

Dance to inspire, dance to freedom, life is about experiences so dance and let yourself become free.

Through synergy of intellect, artistry and grace came into existence the blessing of a dancer.

DANCE – Defeat All Negativity (via) Creative Expression.

She who is a dancer can only sway the silk of her hair like the summer breeze.

Dance is the ritual of immortality.

I'll talk to him before I go," Carlos grumbled. "And what about the girls?" Toni asked. "They need you, Carlos." "They need a mother!" Carlos yelled. "And I need a mate." Caitlyn gasped. Hes was looking for a mate? What kind of mate? His gaze shifted towards her, and his eyes glittered with a hard, angry look. "You--what?" Toni stepped back, apparently stunned. "You heard me," Carlos growled. "Ye want to get married?" the Scotsman asked. "Don't look so shocked, Ian. Didn't want you want to get married?" "Aye, but--" "You can't get married," Toni declared. "You're gay." Caitlyn snorted. Were they crazy? Carlos glared at her in the shadows, then shifted his gaze to Toni. "I never said I was gay." "Of course you're gay," she insisted. "I saw you dance the samba in a hot pink sequined thong." Carlos shrugged. "So? You said I was very sexy. You were practically drooling." Ian stiffened. "When was this?" "Before I met you," Toni muttered.

One step, two steps, three steps; like winds of time experience joy of centuries, when movements become revelations of the dance of destinies.

Burdened no more is soul for whom life flows through dance and not breath.

Dance is that delicacy of life radiating every particle of our existence with happiness.

I was thinking about stopping at a restaurant. Would you care to join me?” She shifted in the car seat to face him, causing him to glance at her legs once again. “Are you asking me out?” “No.” “Will you purr if I tickle you behind the ears?” “No.” “Will you dance the samba for me in your hot pink sequined thong?” “No.” “Do you always say no?” His mouth twitched. “No.

Transcend the terrestrial; surpass the celestial, from nature’s hands when you receive the sublime pleasures of dance.

When a dancer performs, melody transforms into a carriage, expressions turn into fuel and spirit experiences a journey to a world where passion attains fulfillment.

Spirit is a child, the tune of dancing feet its lullaby.

Make dance the mission every moment seeks to accomplish.

Burdened no more is soul for whom life flows through dance like breath.

Limit not to only five, when the divine gifts the supreme sixth; the sense of dance

Audience of angels descend in the ambiance reciting praises in your glory, when you wear your dance shoes, when you arrive at the stage and with every step you take beneath your feet heaven moves. That is the power of dance.

It is often said in soccer that a country's particular style of play bears the fingerprints of its social and political nature. Thus the Germans are unfailingly characterized as resourceful and organized, while Brazilians are said to dance with the ball to the free-form, samba rhythms of Carnival. In the husk of cliche lies a kernel of truth. The Communist system of China had produced a collectivist style of women's soccer from the early 1980s to the mid-1990s.

NO GRAPH IN THE world can do full justice to these unexpected moments. They’re sweet little bursts of grace, and they leave sense-memories on the skin (the smell of the child’s shampoo, the smoothness of his arms). That’s why we’re here, leading this life, isn’t it? To know this kind of enchantment? The question is why such moments, at least with small children, often feel so hard-won, so shatterable, and so fleeting, as if located between parentheses. After just a few minutes of this dreamy slow-dance with Abe, William does a face-plant and starts howling. Jessie sambas over and handles it with humor. This is the drill. I’d like to propose a possible explanation for why these moments of grace are so rare: the early years of family life don’t offer up many activities that lend themselves to what psychologists call “flow.” Simply put, flow is a state of being in which we are so engrossed in the task at hand—so fortified by our own sense of agency, of mastery—that we lose all sense of our surroundings, as though time has stopped.

I love roundabouts. I absolutely think they're the best invention, and I don't care who invented the pen, the biro; whoever invented the roundabout, they should be up there on that plinth that they've got going on in Trafalgar Square. You can have a little bit of fun with it, you know. Will I go? Will I not go? The other car might go in my lane. There's a bit of a dance going. It's like a samba. Because in this city, sometimes you just come to a sudden gridlock and you think, well I'm waiting for him, he's waiting for me, he's waiting for him, and you've got everyone looking at everyone—who will make the first move? And you begin to move and he begins to move and then you stop, and everyone's being really polite. But every day you get somebody who just doesn't care, a young lad and he doesn't give a monkey's.

O wayfarer! Yearn finds quench, not in meadows, seashores or altitude of mountain peaks; but when being and dance are one.

O wayfarer! Yearn finds quench, not in meadows, seashores or altitude of mountain peaks; but when being becomes dance.

the addiction of the Spaniards of America to the dances of the jungle indicates a common ancestor to all the Latin-American dances that evolved in the ensuing centuries. Surely the earliest begetter of the rhumba, the samba, the son, and even the tango, can be none other than this calenda from the coast of Guinea? Even if its authentic African origin were not known, the description of the dance of the Congolese at once suggests to anybody who has seen it the Conga of the Negroes of Cuba.

Judging by the samba my womb is dancing at the moment, my body is one hundred percent on board.

There were occasional dances at the main prison compound with live bands as well as holiday dinners, activities that Blanche greatly enjoyed. In her scrapbooks, she placed an autographed promotional photograph of one visiting band, The Rural Ramblers. ... Blanche loved to dance and by all accounts she was very good at it. She applied to a correspondence course in dancing that came complete with diagrams of select dance steps to place on the floor and practice. She also cut similar dance instructions and diagrams from newspapers and magazines and put them in her scrapbooks. By 1937, she had mastered popular dances like jitterbug, rumba, samba, and tango. The men’s prison, or “the big prison” as the women called it, hosted movies on Friday nights. Features like Roll Along Cowboy ... were standard, usually accompanied by some short musical feature such as Who’s Who and a newsreel. The admission was five cents. Blanche attended many of these movies. She loved movies all of her life. Blanche Barrow’s periodic visits to the main prison allowed her to fraternize with males. She apparently had a brief encounter with “the boy in the warden’s office” in the fall of 1934. There are few details, but their relationship was evidently ended abruptly by prison officials in December. There were other suitors, some from Blanche Barrow’s past, and some late arrivals...

From this point, they were dancing a delicious samba of seduction.

When dawn breaks again, we'll say our farewells Our dreams become distant phantoms The times we were embraced In the light that chased you Relying on the warm winds Heralding spring, The wild plants start to dance Summer in Uji, Such dry, arabesque fields The round autumn moon, Risen in celebration Winter passes, And I again count the days Under my eyelids still resides Vestiges of summer And those too-distant skies (it was warm) Holding hands, as we picked the flowers -- we sang Memories of that evening (I wasn't there) For three months from August The clouds fall under the sway of the moon And I awaken to the fact That you'll never come back I realize I'm alone I'll go on a journey to find you Now my memories within awaken And now I start to walk To wherever you are When dawn breaks again, we'll say our farewells Our dreams become distant phantoms The times we were embraced In the light that chased you Relying on the warm winds Heralding spring, The wild plants start to dance Summer in Uji, Such dry, arabesque fields The round autumn moon, Risen in celebration Winter passes, And I again count the days It's seven o'clock Near you, beneath the cypress trees Your arm on my shoulders With you, a souvenir of the fragrant flowers we saw If the road leading to our reunion were there -- But that doesn't matter, you won't come back again Do you suppose -- Will these tears stop flowing ? The tailwinds scream The silence is broken Fearing nothing, I move on Carrying the golden flowers I'll see you, and I'll again know kindness (Now) The silence is broken Fearing nothing, I move on Carrying the golden flowers I'll see you, and I'll again know kindness Heralding spring, The wild plants start to dance Summer in Uji, Such dry, arabesque fields The round autumn moon, Risen in celebration Winter passes, And I again count the days Heralding spring, We dance and samba Summer in Uji, Such dry, arabesque fields The round autumn moon, Risen in celebration Winter passes, And I again count the days When dawn breaks again, we'll say our farewells Our dreams become distant phantoms The times we were embraced In the light that chased you Relying on the warm winds