From Loïe Fuller’s Quinze ans de ma vie or Fifteen Years of a Dancer’s Life, which I’m currently reading.
” … Charmingly womanly she has chosen the sweetest and finest among sleeping lives. She is the butterfly, she is the fire, she is light, heaven, the stars. Frail, under floating material, flowery with pale gold, with calcedony and beryl, Salome passed in her power. Afterward humanity went by feverishly. To calm our frayed souls and our childish nightmares a fragile figure dances in a celestial robe.”
