Grinding Inspiring Quotes

There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . .

Every man builds his world in his own image; he has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice. If he abdicates his power, he abdicates the status of man, and the grinding chaos of the irrational is what he achieves as his sphere of existence—by his own choice.

There ARE people who won't customarily eat an entire row of cookies, or hear food calling their name from other rooms, or who don't grind up food in the garbage disposal for fear of eating it, or get it back out of the garbage so they could eat it. Of course, my binge eating was just a cover-up for the larger issue: Trying to fill the emptiness

Basketball Rule #2 (random text from Dad) Hustle dig Grind push Run fast Change pivot Chase pull Aim shoot Work smart Live smarter Play hard Practice harder

Success is not just about hard work, it's about working smart. So, take a break from the grind and strategize like a pro.

Sight is seeing what's there, vision is seeing what's possible

Being in a relationship with some people is like pushing a boat through sand. I used to have the time and energy for that kind of nonsense, but not anymore. Relationships should be a wonderful journey of exploration and love; not grinding resistance.

maybe the cure for any burnout is to work harder.

Well, I’m going to tell you the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. Heroes aren’t born. You just go out there and grind it out. You fail and you look foolish and you just keep grinding. There is nothing else. There is no ‘chosen one,’ there is no destiny, nobody wakes up one day and finds out they’re amazing at something. There’s just slamming your head into the wall, refusing to take no for an answer. Being relentless, until either the wall or your head breaks. You want to be a hero? You don’t have to make some grand decision. There’s no inspirational music, there’s no montage. You just don’t quit.

I don't see what's so good about being genuine. Clog dancing is genuine. Isn't being fake more of an achievement? At least it takes some inspiration. Like, sherbet dips, they're a special food. Think of all the additives and coloring and grinding that it takes to create a sherbet dip. But carrots? They're just out there, shrieking, "Hi, we're some carrots! Love us for it!" They never have to prove themselves.

But the grind has begun. The windows don’t open, and even the availability of near-constant jokes about Jews and Mormons fails to stem the tide of frustration, decay. We’ve reached the end of pure inspiration, and are now somewhere else, something implying routine, or doing something because people expect us to do it, going somewhere each day because we went there the day before, saying things because we have said them before, and this seems like the work of a different sort of animal, contrary to our plan, and this is very very bad.

Take a leap of faith on your dreams, not for me and not for the society, just for yourself.

If we could talk to our younger selves now, eh? Dust yourself off, don’t let the bastards grind you down, and always make your mum proud.

The New Your energy goes beyond anything you'll find anywhere else. It's too much for some people and it grinds them down, but it lifts up and animates the rest of us.

How we hate to admit that we would like nothing better than to be the slave! Slave and master at the same time! For even in love the slave is always the master in disguise. The man who must conquer the woman, subjugate her, bend her to his will, form her according to his desires—is he not the slave of his slave? How easy it is, in this relationship, for the woman to upset the balance of power! The mere threat of self-dependence, on the woman’s part, and the gallant despot is seized with vertigo. But if they are able to throw themselves at one another recklessly, concealing nothing, surrendering all, if they admit to one another their interdependence, do they not enjoy a great and unsuspected freedom? The man who admits to himself that he is a coward has made a step towards conquering his fear; but the man who frankly admits it to every one, who asks that you recognize it in him and make allowance for it in dealing with him, is on the way to becoming a hero. Such a man is often surprised, when the crucial test comes, to find that he knows no fear. Having lost the fear of regarding himself as a coward he is one no longer: only the demonstration is needed to prove the metamorphosis. It is the same in love. The man who admits not only to himself but to his fellowmen, and even to the woman he adores, that he can be twisted around a woman’s finger, that he is helpless where the other sex is concerned, usually discovers that he is the more powerful of the two. Nothing breaks a woman down more quickly than complete surrender. A woman is prepared to resist, to be laid siege to: she has been trained to behave that way. When she meets no resistance she falls headlong into the trap. To be able to give oneself wholly and completely is the greatest luxury that life affords. Real love only begins at this point of dissolution. The personal life is altogether based on dependence, mutual dependence. Society is the aggregate of persons all interdependent. There is another richer life beyond the pale of society, beyond the personal, but there is no knowing it, no attainment possible, without firs traveling the heights and depths of the personal jungle. To become the great lover, the magnetiser and catalyzer, the blinding focus and inspiration of the world, one has to first experience the profound wisdom of being an utter fool. The man whose greatness of heart leads him to folly and ruin is to a woman irresistible. To the woman who loves, that is to say. As to those who ask merely to be loved, who seek only their own reflection in the mirror, no love however great, will ever satisfy them. In a world so hungry for love it is no wonder that men and women are blinded by the glamour and glitter of their own reflected egos. No wonder that the revolver shot is the last summons. No wonder that the grinding wheels of the subway express, though they cut the body to pieces, fail to precipitate the elixir of love. In the egocentric prism the helpless victim is walled in by the very light which he refracts. The ego dies in its own glass cage…

The waves smash against rocks, boulder thunders upon bolder. Granite men grind one another, leaving their clean sand to floor the ocean. The alternative would be for the republic to breed up a race of men who could work together without growing violent: men more interested in getting somewhere than having their own way." Haniel Long: Homestead 1892: Pittsburgh Memoranda.

Never accept yourself as a finished product. Be a finished product when you die. As long as you have breath in your lungs, expand yourself.

He'd followed in the footsteps of a man who knew the way.

Successes are those highlights of life we look back on with a smile. But it's the day to day grind of getting them that defines the laugh lines etched until the end of time. Enjoy each moment along the way

As for my damned literature, God knows what a business it is, grinding along without a scrap of inspiration or a note of style. But it has to be ground, and the mill grinds exceeding slowly though not particularly small. ...The treadmill turns; and, with a kind of desperate cheerfulness, I mount the idle stair.

A purpose is more like a positive daily-grind, with gratitude and a smile.

For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock.

if you believe in something, you've got to be in it to the ends of your toes. Taking reasonable risks in part of the challenge. It;s the fun.

My mind can handle the grind, but my body knows it’s time to say goodbye,

Friend, you were on my heart when I mapped out this book. You were made for more than the daily grind. More than making ends meet. More than the list of should's, can'ts or wish I hads.

I think the most fundamental facts of being a person are 1. We must go on, 2. None of us ever walks alone. We may feel alone (in fact, we will feel alone), but even in the crushing grind of isolation, we aren't alone.

We don’t stop and we don’t give up period. If the plan doesn’t work, we choose to change the way we work. If that doesn’t work, then we choose to change the plan, but we don’t change the goal and we don’t stop pushing, grinding and hustling.

You know, when you're stuck in the same old routine in the city, it's easy to get caught up in the grind and forget what life is really about. But then you take a step back, get out of town, and watch the sunset, and it's like a whole new world opens up.

The Government set the stage economically by informing everyone that we were in a depression period, with very pointed allusions to the 1930s. The period just prior to our last 'good' war. ... Boiled down, our objective was to make killing and military life seem like adventurous fun, so for our inspiration we went back to the Thirties as well. It was pure serendipity. Inside one of the Scripter offices there was an old copy of Doc Smith's first LENSMAN space opera. It turned out that audiences in the 1970s were more receptive to the sort of things they scoffed at as juvenilia in the 1930s. Our drugs conditioned them to repeat viewings, simultaneously serving the ends of profit and positive reinforcement. The movie we came up with stroked all the correct psychological triggers. The fact that it grossed more money than any film in history at the time proved how on target our approach was.' 'Oh my God... said Jonathan, his mouth stalling the open position. 'Six months afterward we ripped ourselves off and got secondary reinforcement onto television. We pulled a 40 share. The year after that we phased in the video games, experimenting with non-narcotic hypnosis, using electrical pulses, body capacitance, and keying the pleasure centers of the brain with low voltage shocks. Jesus, Jonathan, can you *see* what we've accomplished? In something under half a decade we've programmed an entire generation of warm bodies to go to war for us and love it. They buy what we tell them to buy. Music, movies, whole lifestyles. And they hate who we tell them to. ... It's simple to make our audiences slaver for blood; that past hasn't changed since the days of the Colosseum. We've conditioned a whole population to live on the rim of Apocalypse and love it. They want to kill the enemy, tear his heart out, go to war so their gas bills will go down! They're all primed for just that sort of denouemment, ti satisfy their need for linear storytelling in the fictions that have become their lives! The system perpetuates itself. Our own guinea pigs pay us money to keep the mechanisms grinding away. If you don't believe that, just check out last year's big hit movies... then try to tell me the target demographic audience isn't waiting for marching orders. ("Incident On A Rainy Night In Beverly Hills")

Yesterday, before the meeting with U2, I took the precaution of putting tiny sections of each of the 44 pieces of music we have in hand on to a single tape. All this means is that when somebody says ‘Drum Loop 14’ and someone else says ‘Which one was that?’ I can readily go to it without having to change tapes (which takes only a few more seconds but is annoying). This little precaution (which however took me nearly three hours to put together beforehand) expedited the whole thing so much, and changed the whole quality of the decisions being made. I tend to spend more and more of my time thinking how to set up situations so that they work – so that they can actually take less and less time. My ideal is probably based on that story I heard years ago of how the Japanese calligraphers used to work – a whole day spent grinding inks and preparing brushes and paper, and then, as the sun begins to go down, a single burst of fast and inspired action.

A fresh idea will always be more appealing than the grind of a project that’s already under way. The insidious thing about a new idea is that it feels productive to stop what we’re doing and tackle that instead. After all, we’re creative—we have to act when inspiration strikes, don’t we? The discipline lies in getting the new idea down onto paper and then going back to finish what you originally started.

All right, now that the weirdness between us has caused actual physical damage, I think it’s time we talked it out, don’t you?” He gave a half smile and then turned back to the path. “We don’t need to be weird,” he said. “These past few days, since the thing with Elodie, I’ve been thinking.” He took a deep breath, and I knew that this was one of those rare occasions when Cal was about to say a lot of words at once. “I like you, Sophie. A lot. For a while, I thought it might be more than that. But you love Cross.” He said it matter-of-factly, but I still caught the way his ears reddened. “I know I’ve said some pretty awful stuff about him, but…I was wrong. He’s a good guy. So, I guess what I’m saying is that as the guy who’s betrothed to you, I wish we could be more than friends.” He stopped, turning around to face me. “But as your friend, I want you to be happy. And if Cross is who you want, then I’m not gonna stand in the way of that.” “I’m the worst fiancé ever, aren’t I?” Cal lifted one shoulder. “Nah. This one warlock I knew, his betrothed set him on fire.” Laughing so I wouldn’t cry, I tentatively lifted my arms to hug him. He folded me against his chest, and there was no awkwardness between us, and I knew the warmth in the pit of my stomach was love. Just a different kind. Sniffling, I pulled back and rubbed at my nose. “Okay, now that the hard part’s over, let’s go tackle the Underworld.” “Got room for two more?” Startled, I turned to see Jenna and Archer standing on the path, Jenna’s hand clutching Archer’s sleeve as she tried to stay on her feet. “What?” was all I could say. Archer took a few careful steps forward. “Hey, this has been a group effort so far. No reason to stop now.” “You guys can’t go into the Underworld with me,” I told them. “You heard Dad, I’m the only one with-“ “With powers strong enough. Yeah, we got that,” Jenna said. “But how are you supposed to carry a whole bunch of demonglass out of that place? It’ll burn you. And hey, maybe your powers will be strong enough to get all of us in, too.” She gestured to herself and the boys. “Plus it’s not like we don’t have powers of our own.” I knew I should tell them to go back. But having the three of them there made me feel a whole lot better and whole lot less terrified. So in the end, I gave an exaggerated sign and said, “Okay, fine. But just so you know, following me into hell means you’re all definitely the sidekicks.” “Darn, I was hoping to be the rakishly charming love interest,” Archer said, taking my hand. “Cal, any role you want?” I asked him, and he looked ruefully at the craggy rock looming over us. As he did, there was the grinding sound of stone against stone. We all stared at the opening that appeared. “I’m just hoping to be the Not Dead Guy,” Cal muttered. We faced the entrance. “Between the four of us, we fought ghouls, survived attacks by demons and L’Occhio di Dio, and practically raised the dead,” I said. “We can do this.” “See, inspiring speeches like that are why you get to be the leader,” Archer said, and he squeezed my hand. And then, moving almost as one, we stepped into the rock.

I have lived a big life. For that I am grateful. But as one disengages from it and grows more reflective and less involved in the day-to-day grind, I think it’s possible to discover wisdom, born of experience and thankfulness. You must “ swallow the shadow” i.e. the fear of death. You must let go of the image of the fit-body and the triumph of your ego-place in the overculture. I think, if you can do that, this “good age” as I like to call it, can be full of radiant inspiration and tender memory. For in all it’s contradiction, somewhere, in the puzzle of life, is incredible beauty. And who does not want to know beauty through their remembering?

most students reported a state of total involvement in what was being taught, he would rate the moment “inspired.” The inspired moments of learning shared the same active ingredients: a potent combination of full attention, enthusiastic interest, and positive emotional intensity. The joy in learning comes during these moments. Such joyous moments, says University of Southern California neuroscientist Antonio Damasio, signify “optimal physiological coordination and smooth running of the operations of life.” Damasio, one of the world’s leading neuroscientists, has long been a pioneer in linking findings in brain science to human experience. Damasio argues that more than merely letting us survive the daily grind, joyous states allow us to flourish, to live well, and to feel well-being. Such upbeat states, he notes, allow a “greater ease in the capacity to act,” a greater harmony in our functioning that enhances our power and freedom in whatever we do. The field of cognitive science, Damasio notes, in studying the neural networks that run mental operations, finds similar conditions and dubs them “maximal harmonious states.

35. Seek Out Motivation Over the years, I’ve noticed that people can be quite snobby about books like this. So-called ‘self-help’ books. They can be just as mocking of the people who read them or go to motivational talks. Their main criticism of the kind of books and talks that motivate and inspire people is that the impact is often fleeting - that the effects of the book or talk don’t last. My response is to say: of course it is fleeting, of course it is temporary. But so are the effects of washing your armpits - that’s why you should wash them every day! Likewise with motivation - we have to have it every day. We have to fill ourselves up to overflowing with the good stuff, because the daily grind wears us down and dirties us up. The trick with motivation is to make it part of your daily routine, like brushing your teeth or taking a shower. Do it, absorb it - every day. So, drown out the bad with the good. Blast away the negative with the positive. Refill the jug as much as you can. Don’t run your tank on empty but fill up at every possible opportunity with fresh, clean, good motivational fuel that will keep you soaring down the race track to the best of your ability. It’s not rocket science to understand that the more good we put into our mind and bodies (such as eating good, healthy food), then the better results we get out in return.

You can either complain about it or grind, I choose to grind.

The baker kneads; the weaver knits; The smithy plies the sun-bright steel; The potter turns; the farmer plants; The miller grinds his dusty meal. While I my quill in trembling hand Pen odes to please the fickle throng; The greatest craftsman of them all, Save only she who sings my song.

Black Sabbath’s self-titled debut album stands as a death knell for the idealistic hippie dreams of the Sixties. Inspired by horror movies, bad dreams, drug come-downs and the terminal grind of the factory floor, it was designed to unnerve and unsettle

Do not go up and come down. A tree grows high from roots deeply embedded beneath the surface of the earth, it does not grow downwards from the sky. Likewise character develops by noting and correcting the smallest flaws in the grind of a laborious struggle. The outcome of that is its future strength.

Nothing else matters except sitting down every day and trying…Because when we sit down day after day and keep grinding, something mysterious starts to happen… we become like a magnetized rod that attracts iron filings. Ideas come. insights accrete.

... but pain is what shapes us, after all. We are creatures born of heat and pressure and grinding, ceaseless movement. To be still is to be... not alive.

Bloated bureaucracies crush aspirations, suppress ingenuity, and grind responsiveness to a crawl.

Those moments of rest matter just as much those moments of grinding. So remember to rest and recharge, the thing your striving for will be there.

Those moments of rest matter just as much as those moments of grinding. So remember to rest and recharge, the thing you're striving for will be there.

Life is too short to be whining. Keep dreaming, keep grinding and keep winning.

Don't go at it alone, my friend. Look for allies who'll lend a hand, easing the burden with a peaceful flow instead of pushing you into that grind-hustle cycle.

No need for the hustle & grind when you can tap into your inner power & manifest what you desire with grace & ease.

(p.62) Van Gogh came to realize in Nuenen that color could be a means of expression in its own right. Later, in France, based on his observation and experience of the color theories of Impressionist like Monet and Pissarro and Post-Impressionists like Seurat and Gauguin, he developed a quite radical, very bright palette that had little to do with naturalism. For some time, too, he tried to work from his imagination. Despite all this, he continued to believe that the direct study of nature was a sine qua non for a contemporary artist. Artists could never study nature enough. They constantly had to "grind away at it. And whatever imagination could achieve, to Van Gogh nature remained the ultimate source of inspiration: "The greatest, most powerful imaginations have also made things directly from reality that leave one dumbfounded" [537].

I wake up and grind like the whole world owes me money. I'm taking that money like I'm owed.

Burnout is real. If you want success without the hustle and grind, plan for breaks and set boundaries for yourself.

Everyone wants the result, but few are willing to face the grind. Keep going; what sets you apart is your refusal to give up.

TO GRIND OR NOT TO GRIND. THAT IS THE QUESTION. NO! THAT IS THE ANSWER !

And our task is harder even than that,” he said, “for we also have to invoke the grey fumes without denying the palpitating breath of roses. We have to give glimpses of a world that sometimes seems to work like a machine bent on some inexorable but inscrutable task, with all of us caught in its coils, cogs meshing always with the absurd, frantic pistons pushing away at the futile.” “And yet,” he added, his voice now only a murmur which seemed to be a part of the rustling of the withered bushes and the passing noises of the road, “we may also at times suggest a slight faltering in the grinding of the machine, or the brief opening of an unknown vista suggesting that the machine is not all that there is.

Rich Roll is an inspiring guy. He’s a plant-based nutrition enthusiast, a #1 bestselling author, and according to Men’s Fitness magazine, one of the twenty five most fittest men in the world. One of Rich’s defining qualities is his dedication to dedication itself. He believes we live in a hack culture, where people seek to find the quickest, easiest route to success. And I agree. Hustling isn’t always about hacking. It’s just as much, if not more, about grinding. Here’s Rich:   So if you have a passion and aspire to greatness―if you want to see what you are truly made of, or just how far you can go and what you are truly capable of―forget the hack. Commit to the daily pressure that compels infinitesimal progress over time. Wake up before dawn and apply yourself in silent anonymity. Practice your craft―in whatever shape or form that may be―late into the evening with relentless rigor. Embrace the fear. Let go of perfection. Allow yourself to fail. Welcome the obstacles. Forget the results. Give yourself over to your passion with every fiber of who you are. And live out the rest of your days trying to do better.   I can’t promise that you will succeed in the way our culture inappropriately defines the term. But I can absolutely guarantee that you will become deeply acquainted with who you truly are. You will touch and exude passion. And discover what it means to be truly alive.

Life is a grindstone, and whether it grinds you down or polishes you up is for you and you alone to decide. - Cavett Robert     The

I used to pray for times like this to rhyme like this so I had to grind like that to shine like this

You wanna know why Joey Ramone's my hero? Cuz people like you never managed to grind him down. They never stole his spirit. He never gave in, never gave up, and never sold out, right til his last breath. And he's not dead. Guys like that, they live forever.

There's a lot of "fiddle-faddle" wrapped up in that word "inspiration." It is the last resort of the lazy writer, of the man who would rather sit and dream than be up and doing. If the majority of writers who depend upon fiction for a livelihood were to wait for the spirit of inspiration to move them, the sheriff would happen along and tack a notice on the front door--while the writers were still waiting.

I got that money on my mind but I ain't blind. I see that if I want it, I have to grind.

So the angels went to the shepherds. Men who didn’t have a reputation to protect or an ax to grind or a ladder to climb. Men who didn’t know enough to tell God that angels don’t sing to sheep and that messiahs aren’t found sleeping in a feed trough.

Workplace culture is the heartbeat of an organization, and either yields energy and motivates people to pursue greatness or sucks the inspiration out of employees and slowly brings a business to a grinding halt.

People are more focused on trying to look successful than doing the work required and grinding through the process to actually become successful.

The grind is nothing but positive when you know why you’re grinding and the outcome you’re chasing

The same is true for your life—the grind is just a part of your progress toward success and a better future. The grind is not the suck. Instead, it is your escape from your suck.

The decision to run from your suck is the easy part—staying focused on your lighthouse and putting in the daily grind to suck less and do better is where those who will succeed and those who accept failure will part ways.

I know you are tired this morning but I want you to know that if you want your dreams to become reality, you gotta get up and grind.

When you are acting out of the flow of your connectedness, it is glorious, rebounding, regenerating, ever flowing Energy that inspires you to achieve! Any action taken from a place of lack is not worth doing. It will be hard, boring, enervating, grinding filled struggle. When action comes from inspiration, you barely have to think about it, you don't question it when it comes! Abraham -- G 5/2/92 B

My stomach’s squashed under my chin… my haunches are grinding into my guts… Every gesture I make is blind and aimless… Because I’m stuck like this, my thoughts are crazy… My painting is dead… I am not a painter.

Flow destroys the idea that you have to be constantly working or grinding to get what you want. When you embrace the concept of flow, that energized, full-of-focus way of being, you can more naturally embrace rest, recovery, and reflection as essential pieces of a fulfilled life.

A hundred miles beyond the point, the farthest point, the most distant point on the horizon. Out past the alkali flats and sinks; Misfit and Stillwater, Humboldt and Carson. Out over the mountains, ice age islands and archipelagos, Ichthyosaur, Columbian Mastodon boned talus slopes and scree fields. Beyond the Saltbrush, Bitterbrush, Creosote Plants and Rabbitbrush, petrified Redwood forests and Mount Mazama blowouts. Out over the playas, hoodos and springs, koi ponds and basins. Beyond the mustangs, horned lizards, whiptails and rattlers and over the abandoned mines; silver and gold, copper, bornite and cinnabar. Out past the hematite and jasper, chert and agate. Out over Lovelock, Spirit Cave and Wizard's Beach. Beyond the grinding rocks, diorite and granitic boulders cast adrift in a sea of sand, dust and wind. Beyond the Rye Grass, Rice Grass and Bunchgrass. Out over the land into the distance and beyond. The distance of a thousand years, a million years, a century, a lifetime. A distance of roads forgotten and graves abandoned, misplaced Iris and Lilac the only indication of a person's passing. Out past Bonneville, Daggett, Donner and Walker. The two tracks, the single tracks, the deer and coyote tracks, lizard tracks and no tracks at all. Out over the land.....

A hundred miles beyond the point, the farthest point, the most distant point on the horizon. Out past the alkali flats and sinks; Misfit and Stillwater, Humboldt and Carson. Out over the mountains, ice age islands and archipelagos, Ichthyosaur, Columbian Mastodon boned talus slopes and scree fields. Beyond the Saltbrush, Bitterbrush, Creosote Plants and Rabbitbrush, petrified Redwood forests and Mount Mazama blowouts. Out over the playas, hoodos and springs, koi ponds and basins. Beyond the mustangs, horned lizards, whiptails and rattlers and over the abandoned mines; silver and gold, copper, bornite and cinnabar. Out past the hematite and jasper, chert and agate. Out over Lovelock, Spirit Cave and Wizard's Beach. Beyond the grinding rocks, diorite and granitic boulders cast adrift in a sea of sand, dust and wind. Beyond the Rye Grass, Ricegrass and Bunchgrass. Out over the land and into the distance and beyond. The distance of a thousand years, a million years, a century, a lifetime. A distance of roads forgotten and graves abandoned, misplaced Iris and Lilac the only indication of a person's passing. Out past Bonneville, Daggett, Donner and Walker. The two tracks, the single tracks, the deer tracks, coyote tracks, lizard tracks and no tracks at all. Out over the land.....

In Spinoza: Practical Philosophy, Deleuze writes that “the purpose of demonstration functioning as the third eye is not to command or even to convince, but only to shape the glass or polish the lens for this inspired free vision” (SPP, 14). Deleuze then elaborates on Spinoza by way of Henry Miller, that great writer of life as adventure and ordeal, who wrote, “You see, to me it seems as though the artists, the scientists, the philosophers were grinding lenses. It's all a grand preparation for something that never comes off. Someday the lens is going to be perfect and then we're all going to see clearly, see

Strive For Perfection, cause perfection cannot be reached. But, grind like it exists so that you always do better than your best effort.

You win some, you lose some. You try and sometimes fail. You grind, grin, and win. You love and remember loss. Everyday is a new day. Every moment another chance. Every road a new sight. All that matters is that you keep going. Stay as present as you can. Spend your time well. Choose your emotions as much as you can. But above all, choose love as much as you can. Forgive sincerely. Laugh fully. Hug closely. Kiss deeply. Leave nothing unsaid. Look straight into stars and sunsets and tears. Hold on. Hold each other. Hold close to all that matters to your heart. To dreams and smiles and people. The rodeo is life. You’re the rider. Saddle up, ride hard, and hold on tight. But whatever you do. Just keep on riding.

Time management is all about making smart choices. So forget the hustle and grind, and take control of your choices - it's the key to success!

Don't let the hustle and grind of life cloud your judgment - take the time to understand what works best for YOU and craft a plan that aligns with your goals.

Be like a tree and let the dead leaves drop.—RUMI This month is all about simplicity. When you are committed to simplifying your life, your priorities, desires, and deep needs rise to the surface. When life is cluttered with things and busyness, you become blind to your needs. The complex demands of the day-to-day grind overshadow the more important, simple needs of your life. Sometimes you may hold on to possessions, relationships, people, and ideas long after their expiration date. It’s okay—necessary even—to let the things, people, and feelings that you no longer need fall away. When you remove the old to make way for the new, you are simply acknowledging what is and what isn’t in your life. Simplifying gives you the necessary space to breathe in deeply. It feeds your soul and creativity, and it allows you to lead an empowered life.

The revolt Samuel Sharpe had started on a Caribbean island was building to a culmination at Westminster – a final drive to asphyxiate slavery throughout the British Empire. But it came not through a spectacular legislative duel or an inspiring floor speech, but rather through the grind of parliamentary process and the unromantic reality of dickering in the shadows.

Excess wealth and grinding poverty can both have a corrosive effect on our faith, character and souls.

It is easy to know your purpose in life because you choose your purpose in life. A purpose does not just happen; it is cultivated. A purpose does not come as a grand, all-encompassing and final solution or supreme-understanding. A purpose is more like a positive daily-grind, with gratitude and a smile. A purpose is nothing fancy and is not reserved for spiritual teachers, so-called geniuses or impassioned artistes. There is nothing more practical, down to earth and easily accessible as a purpose. You will find your purpose revealed in every single action, once you realize that — you — are your purpose. Your life is your purpose. We don’t “get” a purpose. We are witnesses to the unfolding of our purpose as our purpose is revealed to us daily by how we live life. The people who seem to know their purpose are sometimes just more present in their own choices and more focused with their gifts; gifts all of us have — yes, even you. But your purpose isn’t to merely craft and showcase your gifts. Your purpose is deeper than the busy-work of talent. Your purpose is with you at every moment. Your purpose is simply what you do each day. Your purpose is what you are experiencing in the living of your life. Your purpose is a great unfolding; a distinctive honor granted to all life — highest among those honors is the gift of freedom of thought and choice. The purpose of your life is the purpose you bring to it, choice by choice, and recognition by recognition. If you don’t know your gifts, your gifts and purpose know you — and if you are open, you will not have to find them, because they will find you. Let us shout, weep and sing, for every dark and bright thing. Let us joy in the breath, for the minutes we have left.

Cross fit has nothing on my daily grind, the devil contacted me and asked about franchising my daily grind out to hell for their gym.

I'm not crazy, I'm just tired.

During the next two weeks Trurl fed general instructions into his future electropoet, then set up all the necessary logic circuits, emotive elements, semantic centers. He was about to invite Klapaucius to attend a trial run, but thought better of it and started the machine himself. It immediately proceeded to deliver a lecture on the grinding of crystallographical surfaces as an introduction to the study of submolecular magnetic anomalies. Trurl bypassed half the logic circuits and made the emotive more electromotive; the machine sobbed, went into hysterics, then finally said, blubbering terribly, what a cruel, cruel world this was. Trurl intensified the semantic fields and attached a strength of character component; the machine informed him that from now on he would carry out its every wish and to begin with add six floors to the nine it already had, so it could better meditate upon the meaning of existence. Trurl installed a philosophical throttle instead; the machine fell silent and sulked. Only after endless pleading and cajoling was he able to get it to recite something: "I had a little froggy." That appeared to exhaust its repertoire. Trurl adjusted, modulated, expostulated, disconnected, ran checks, reconnected, reset, did everything he could think of, and the machine presented him with a poem that made him thank heaven Klapaucius wasn't there to laugh — imagine, simulating the whole Universe from scratch, not to mention Civilization in every particular, and to end up with such dreadful doggerel! Trurl put in six cliché filters, but they snapped like matches; he had to make them out of pure corundum steel. This seemed to work, so he jacked the semanticity up all the way, plugged in an alternating rhyme generator — which nearly ruined everything, since the machine resolved to become a missionary among destitute tribes on far-flung planets. But at the very last minute, just as he was ready to give up and take a hammer to it, Trurl was struck by an inspiration; tossing out all the logic circuits, he replaced them with self-regulating egocentripetal narcissistors. The machine simpered a little, whimpered a little, laughed bitterly, complained of an awful pain on its third floor, said that in general it was fed up, through, life was beautiful but men were such beasts and how sorry they'd all be when it was dead and gone. Then it asked for pen and paper.

Myself and my Savvy Turtle Community earn everything we have and shooting for as a YouTube Creator nothing is freely given to Savvy like large groups that are gifted with Silver play buttons overnight from their friends. This is not only unethical but also it infects the freeloaders with a God Complex where they assume its right to be a Tool and Donkey while kicking small creators that are working hard and grinding the ethical way to keep kicking them in the teeth while spitting on them

Dashing by Maisie Aletha Smikle On my farm I keep a firearm The deer I charm And then disarm To feed my family venison And stay away from medicine Sheep so sweet We love to eat Young lambs we chop To get lamb chops Pigs in wigs Dished their wigs to do a jig Pigs skinny dip Floated and strip So turkey chicken and rabbit May be covered with bacon strips Cows roaming in the valleys Cats left in the Alleys Bring the cows It's time to chow Beef for steak Make no mistake Mince it grind it chop it We must have it We plant dashene To cook and steam To feed the animals so they keep lean Fit and ready to consume Eat we must Or we'd be dust Knead the dough for the pie crust Get the pan it will not rust We will dine Without wine We will roast eat then toast Thanking God that He is our Host

I grind in spite of your hatred, insecurity, jealousy, or fear that I might move forward. That...is what winners do.

And the world too will be in a bad way if ever it happens that there are no more wildernesses, no more silent unspoilt places to which a man can retire and think, if every corner of the earth is filled with noise and underground tunnels and soaring airplanes and communication networks, if cables and sewers scar the surface and undermine the crust. Mankind needs to keep a few quiet corners for those who seek a respite and feel the urge to retreat for a while from over-civilization to creative silence. For those who occasionally feel the hermit instinct there should at least be a chance to try it out. The law of absolute utility, of total functionalism, is not a law of life. There is an extraordinarily close connection between the wilderness and fruitful, satisfying life. Where all the secluded places ring with tumult, where the silent muses have been degraded to pack horses and all the sources of inspiration forced into the service of official mills grinding out propaganda, the wilderness has indeed been conquered—but at what a price. Even greater devastation has taken its place.

If you grind long enough you will quickly learn that generating reoccurring long-term wealth is not the problem or big headache you face rather the big headaches come from coming up with new places to put your money as the more money your money printing machine makes the more headaches you have each day to tend to

Excuses don't make empires

People have marveled at the fact that I didn’t start McDonald’s until I was fifty-two years old, and then I became a success overnight. But I was just like a lot of show business personalities who work away quietly at their craft for years, and then, suddenly, they get the right break and make it big. I was an overnight success all right, but thirty years is a long, long night.

Look to expand beyond the daily grind, and find activities that are new and exciting.

There are things money can't buy and hard work can't win. One of them is happiness.

He continued to shrink as his thoughts grew.

Sweet as, eh.” “Do you mean where you wrap your wrists?” Hannah wondered. “Do you write things on there, then?” “Most of the boys do. Especially the ones with families,” Hemi explained. “Got the names of their partners, their kids on there. Reminds them who they’re playing for.” “You play for your kids and your wife?” Hannah asked. “What does that mean, exactly?” “Hannah’s dad died when she was young,” Drew told Hemi. “These sorts of things are a bit of a mystery to her.” “My wife and my kids give me the incentive to go out and play well. They’re my inspiration,” Hemi said, taking Reka’s hand. “Not sure it works that way with women.” “I’ve been working for a long time,” Hannah mused. “But even though I had some responsibility for my brother and sister,” she said, ignoring Drew’s snort at her description, “I never thought of myself as working for them. It was separate. If anything, I have to admit, it felt more like a conflict. Almost a burden, trying to think about them and also about everything else I had to do. Trying to juggle everything. It doesn’t feel that way for you? Like a...an extra weight? The responsibility?” Hemi shook his head firmly. “Maybe men need something beyond themselves to remind us that it’s not all about us. Reckon we’re more selfish. We need somebody to work for. In my case, somebody to play for. When we’re busting a gut, trying to grind out a win, and I’m feeling ready to chuck it in, I look down at my kids’ names, at Reka’s name. And it reminds me, this is why I’m doing this. Gives me strength.” “Wow,” Hannah said quietly. “I never knew that.

To become strong grind and sweat a lot Be strong to be independent.

Step away from the grind and rediscover inspiration. A walk in nature or a creative hobby can recharge your mind in ways you never imagined.

Lou hoisted up her gown and winced as she tottered across the parking lot. The sparkly four-inch heels had looked so pretty in the box, but they felt like a mortar and pestle grinding each bone in her foot. She missed her green Crocs. Lou plucked at the tight elastic, squeezing her under the sleek black dress her fiancé, Devlin, had given her. He walked five steps ahead of her, so she scurried to catch up. "Overstuffed truffle and foie gras sausage," Lou said. Devlin's face crinkled in confusion. "What?" "It's a new dish, inspired by how I feel in these clothes. Maybe served over brown butter dumplings..." Lou tilted her head, visualizing the newly formed meal.

Hyde Park Corner is what happens when a bunch of urban planners take one look at the grinding circle of gridlock that surrounds the Arc de Triomphe in Paris and think—that’s what we want for our town. Inspired no doubt by the existence of the Wellington Arch, George IV’s cut-price copy of Napoleon’s own vanity project, they wrapped seven lanes of traffic around one corner of Green Park, ran a dual carriageway underneath and produced virtually overnight what had taken the French and Baron Haussmann a hundred years to perfect.