A Quote by Ruth St. Denis

I see the dance being used as a means of express what is too deep, too fine for words. — © Ruth St. Denis
I see the dance being used as a means of express what is too deep, too fine for words.
I see dance being used as communication between body and soul, to express what it too deep to find for words.
There's always a fine line between being too focused and missing opportunities, or being too wide and taking on too many.
Too unconcerned to love and too passionless to hate, too detached to be selfish and too lifeless to be unselfish, too indifferent to experience joy and too cold to express sorrow, they are neither dead nor alive; they merely exist.
There's a fine line in being too specific so you can't be too flexible, and being too vague in being specific and people not thinking it's meaningful.
Sometimes we give too much too soon. Sometimes we hold back for too long. This is our beautiful dance. Our imperfect dance. This is the dance that makes us human.
Shoes are the first thing I notice on a man. I like classic styles - not too square, not too pointy, not too fashiony. There's a fine line between too much and too little effort.
Love is too large, too deep ever to be truly understood or measured or limited within the framework of words.
I was too old, too young, too fat, too thin, too tall, too short, too blond, too dark - but at some point, they're going to need the other. So I'd get really good at being the other.
No tablecloths, silver cutlery, fine porcelain, sommeliers, or deep wine lists - that's fine. But no service or hospitality? That's going too far.
In too deep to see the diamond, down too dark to see the gold. Now he won't let go of the shovel, and he cannot dig out of the hole.
Adventures are only interesting once you've lived to see the end of them. Before that, they are nothing but fear, and being too cold or too hot or too wet or too hungry, and getting hurt.
It’s just like when you’ve got some coffee that’s too black, which means it’s too strong. What you do? You integrate it with cream; you make it weak. If you pour too much cream in, you won’t even know you ever had coffee. It used to be hot, it becomes cool. It used to be strong, it becomes weak. It used to wake you up, now it’ll put you to sleep.
I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.
I listen to music a great deal. In a way, it's trying to express things that can't be expressed in words. That's something that interests me, too. Even though I use words to express myself, I am trying to, it seems to me, get beyond that.
If there are words and wrongs like knives, whose deep inflicted lacerations never heal - cutting injuries and insults of serrated and poison-dripping edge - so, too, there are consolations of tone too fine for the ear not fondly and for ever to retain their echo: caressing kindnesses - loved, lingered over through a whole life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answering the call with undimmed shine, out of that raven cloud foreshadowing Death himself.
The sand should be neither coarse nor fine but of a middling quality or about the size of the common pop(p)y seed. If the sand is too coarse the mortar will be short or brittle . . . If the sand is too fine the cement will shrink and crack after it has been used.
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