“Helen stood up., "Accept that the universe is an apparently random dance. There may be a pattern to it-I think there probably is-but we can't see it from where we are.You have to let the dance happen. You'll love some of it and hate some it.”

“Why can't parents dance? Is it some universal law of physics or something?”

“Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance. Some will get angry when the rhythm changes. Other's might accidently get their toes stepped on. But life is changing all the time. So... Let's dance!”

“We danced in the handkerchief-big space between the speak-easy tables, in which stood the plates of half-eaten spaghetti or chicken bones and the bottles of Dago red. For about five minutes the dancing had some value in itself, then it became very much like acting out some complicated and portentous business in a dream which seems to have a meaning but whose meaning you can't figure out. Then the music was over, and stopping dancing was like waking up from the dream, being glad to wake up and escape and yet distressed because now you won't ever know what it had been all about.”

“Perhaps happiness is in the eyes of our loved ones and we only need to look, to put on some music, take their hand and dance. It's not something we can truly own. We certainly can't purchase it.”

“Love is a perilous dance too, you see. And if we stop dancing, we'll die.Don't ever stop dancing.”