Hustle And Flow Quotes

Radar revs the engine as to say hustle, and we are running through the parking lot, Ben's robe flowing in the wind so that he looks vaguely like a dark wizard, except that his pale skinny legs are visible, and his arms hug plastic bags. I can see the back of Lacey's legs beneath her dress, her calves tight in midstride. I don't know how I look, but I know how I feel: Young. Goofy. Infinite.

Investing requires a substantial amount of effort, skill, and wisdom. However, it shouldn’t be laborious. Look at the trees in the forest - are any of them laboring? Are any of the trees in the forest hustling or grinding? No, the trees in the forest are not laboring, hustling or grinding. It’s a natural flow, a progressive accumulation. The trees in the forest are active, yes. But their activity is with calm, temperance, strategy, consistency and faith - not laborious. At Mayflower-Plymouth, we invest like the trees in the forest - with calm, temperance, strategy, consistency, and faith.

Butterflies have often been used as a metaphor for freedom. Turning every single hobby into a hustle is akin to walking around with a cyanide-filled jar to kill and pin every butterfly you see. Sometimes it’s better to just enjoy the chaos of your creative flow without trying to capture and catalyze it.

You know what your mum might be?' 'You're not really asking, are you? This is rhetorical, isn't it?' 'A real life desperate housewife. Maybe your mum's hooking and she -' "What are you, drunk? There's a five-year-old in the back seat. And, PS, you're not helping. All she said is that she's at the station. Not in jail. Now, I don't want to talk anymore about it. Mark and I spend the remainder of the car trip in silence. Emma, on the other hand, takes it upon herself to sing every verse of It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp. Next chance I get I'm gonna confiscate her copy of Hustle and Flow and change her computer password from GEELOVE to MONOBROW. - Cat

The story of the rapper and the story of the hustler are like rap itself, two kinds of rhythm working together, having a conversation with each other, doing more together than they could do apart. It's been said that the thing that makes rap special, that makes it different both from pop music and from written poetry, is that it's built around two kinds of rhythm. The first kind of rhythm is the meter. In poetry, the meter is abstract, but in rap, the meter is something you literally hear: it's the beat. The beat in a song never stops, it never varies. No matter what other sounds are on the track, even if it's a Timbaland production with all kinds of offbeat fills and electronics, a rap song is usually built bar by bar, four-beat measure by four-beat measure. It's like time itself, ticking off relentlessly in a rhythm that never varies and never stops. When you think about it like that, you realize the beat is everywhere, you just have to tap into it. You can bang it out on a project wall or an 808 drum machine or just use your hands. You can beatbox it with your mouth. But the beat is only one half of a rap song's rhythm. The other is the flow. When a rapper jumps on a beat, he adds his own rhythm. Sometimes you stay in the pocket of the beat and just let the rhymes land on the square so that the beat and flow become one. But sometimes the flow cops up the beat, breaks the beat into smaller units, forces in multiple syllables and repeated sounds and internal rhymes, or hangs a drunken leg over the last bap and keeps going, sneaks out of that bitch. The flow isn't like time, it's like life. It's like a heartbeat or the way you breathe, it can jump, speed up, slow down, stop, or pound right through like a machine. If the beat is time, flow is what we do with that time, how we live through it. The beat is everywhere, but every life has to find its own flow. Just like beats and flows work together, rapping and hustling, for me at least, live through each other. Those early raps were beautiful in their way and a whole generation of us felt represented for the first time when we heard them. But there's a reason the culture evolved beyond that playful, partying lyrical style. Even when we recognized the voices, and recognized the style, and even personally knew the cats who were on the records, the content didn't always reflect the lives we were leading. There was a distance between what was becoming rap's signature style - the relentlessness, the swagger, the complex wordplay - and the substance of the songs. The culture had to go somewhere else to grow. It had to come home.

You cannot push yourself to the limit and live in a state of well-being at the same time.

There are people out there who have all the 'shoulds.' Yet they are still not at peace with themselves. They are stressed out, disconnected, unfulfilled, unloved, heavy-hearted, and unsure what to do about it.

The Russian oligarchic system is the quintessence of statist depravity, where all industry is controlled by a small number of men ruthless enough to rise to the top of a corrupt patronage system, where government serves the interests of elites, money and privilege flow to the top, the people are exploited through a venomous cocktail of brutality and graft, and truth is the enemy of the state. Russian oligarchy is economic survival of the fittest, the ultimate, balls-out Darwinian experiment in wealth consolidation by the most wicked, immoral and dishonest ― government of the rich, by the rich, for the rich at the expense and misery of everyone else.

When I feel the steadiness of ground beneath my feet, the wind in my hair, the warmth of a fire, snowflakes melting on my nose, I recognize that I’m more than just a brain, more than my thoughts or self-definition. Instead of defining myself narrowly, I begin to expand.

John Brooks.’ Immediately, I thought of the odds. First of just surviving in such a place, next of surviving and then becoming a cop. ‘Vertical ghettos, each one of them. Me and John used to say it was the only time when you had to take the elevator up when you were going to hell.’ I just nodded. This was out of my realm completely. ‘And that’s only if the elevators were working,’ he added. I realized that I never considered that Brooks might be a black man. There was no photo in the computer printouts and no reason to mention race in the stories. I had just assumed he was white and it was an assumption I would have to analyze later. At the moment, I was trying to figure out what Washington was trying to tell me by taking me here. Washington pulled into a lot next to one of the buildings. There were a couple of dumpsters coated with decades of graffiti slogans. There was a rusted basketball backboard but the rim was long gone. He put the car in park but left it running. I didn’t know if that was to keep the heat flowing or to allow us a quick getaway if needed. I saw a small group of teenagers in long coats, their faces as dark as the sky, scurry from the building closest to us, then cross a frozen courtyard and hustle into one of the other buildings. ‘At this point you’re wondering what the hell you’re doing here,’ Washington said then. ‘That’s okay, I understand. A white boy like you.’ Again I said nothing. I was letting him run out his line. ‘See that one, third on the right. That was our building. I was on fourteen with my grand-auntie and John lived with his mother on twelve, one below us. They didn’t have no thirteen, already enough bad luck ’round here. Neither of us had fathers. At least ones that showed up.’ I thought he wanted me to say something but I didn’t know what. I had no earthly idea what kind of struggle the two friends must have had to make it out of the tombstone of a building he had pointed at. I remained mute. ‘We were friends for life. Hell, he ended up marrying my first girlfriend, Edna. Then on the department, after we both made homicide and trained with senior detectives for a few years, we asked to be partnered. And damn, it got approved. Story about us in the

The type of belief in myself I had to have was met with a childlike naivety. At age twenty, I was too dumb to know that I had a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding, but I believed in myself enough to try. I knew that if I didn’t act, there was a 100 percent chance I wouldn’t find success.

Your entire life can change in the blink of an eye. Storms can come in and rock you to the core. I started to doubt myself, but I eventually learned two unbelievably valuable lessons at that moment: 1. Never doubt yourself. 2. Never stop pursuing your dreams. Setbacks are temporary and a natural occurrence on the road to success. So I figured I better get used to them.

Belief in yourself can certainly be difficult and painful, and the process is not effortless. You will constantly battle fear, doubt, negative feedback, and hundreds of other forces. Like gravity, these forces have the ability to continually pull you down. It takes effort to get out of bed, get dressed, and battle all day on your nine-to-five, then be the weekend warrior for your dream.

Think about the impact of what you do. Not everyone is going to become Mother Teresa or Albert Schweitzer. In business you could become an Andrew Carnegie or in the arts a Bono; there are many ways to help people and change the world. Pretty much every product and service made by a business excels when helping to solve a felt need.

Success isn't just about hustling till you're drained or chasing endless ideals. It's about aligning actions with values, embracing the journey, and unlocking the power of flow and fulfillment. It's all about finding your groove and living your best life!

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.

If you know exactly what you love to do, why aren’t you doing that as much as possible?

Perfect is an ideal or standard that no one can live up to; so, we must learn to live with imperfection and move into acceptance. You are human. You will make mistakes, and bad things will happen that are out of your control. But a person is not measured by how many times they fall. They are measured by the fact that they got back up.

Our founding fathers said we have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness… If you are not happy, the only one who can change that is you… If you live under the assumption that’s someone or something will make you happy, or you delay your happiness saying, ‘Someday I’ll be happy,’ wishing, thinking, hoping, and praying won’t make it so. Pursuing makes it so

Change is constant, and change is inevitable. And those who do not learn to adapt and press forward will get left behind.

I know for a fact if you do nothing, you have failed 100 percent. Your dreams will never happen… Dying with a dream locked inside you, unrealized, is probably one of the saddest things that can happen in life.

A butterfly, through the process of breaking out of its cocoon, gains the wing strength to be able to emerge and fly. If you see butterfly struggling and decide to help do it for him, he will fall to the ground and eventually die. You were given a life, but no one said it was going to be easy.

There is no right or wrong way to use time if you are making a conscious decision on how best to use it. Every moment of every minute counts.

Whether you work for someone else or your are self-employed, you always end up working for yourself. If you go to work for someone else, though, you will not have enough intrinsic motivation to perform at your optimal performance level. You must get into the mindset that you work for yourself, even if you are paid by someone else.

…life becomes more livable from having work/life balance; but the balance comes from not knowing where one stops and starts—to inject fun into both work and play, create space and time for both and have an equal balance of time spent doing what you love.

A person who is more successful than you has failed more times than you, taken more risks than you, and learned more valuable lessons than you.

I’ll pay you two thousand dollars if you stall.” Mitch blinked, surprised to hear the words that had just come out of his mouth. “What?” Tommy asked, his own surprise clear in his tone. “I will pay you two grand to stall the repair,” he repeated, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him this was wrong. If there was another way, he’d take it, but every other option had variables. And he couldn’t risk variables. “And how long am I supposed to do that?” Mitch calculated how much time he could get away with while not raising Maddie’s suspicions. The small-town thing would only get him so far before it became unbelievable. “Can you make it the end of the week?” If he pushed it until Friday, maybe he could convince her to stay through the weekend instead of making her way back home. That gave him about a week. One week, then he’d let the chips fall where they may. “So let me get this straight, you’re going to pay me two thousand dollars to let the car sit in my garage for a week?” “Plus the cost of the repair,” Mitch added, knowing Maddie would insist on paying for the car herself. “I’ll bring her in this morning, and you tell her the repair will be three to four hundred but will take until Friday to fix. I’ll pay you two thousand dollars on the side.” “You’ve got a real hard-on for this girl.” Tommy laughed, repeating Charlie’s sentiment from last night. “Never mind that. And for fuck’s sake, don’t tell your wife.” It was only right to point out that Tommy was the pussy-whipped one, not him. “Now, that’s going to cost you a little more,” Tommy said in a thoughtful tone. Mitch narrowed his eyes. “You’re telling me two grand isn’t enough?” “It’s plenty for me, but Mary Beth’s silence will cost you something extra.” Ah, hell. He was about to get hustled and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “Don’t tell her and we won’t have a problem.” Tommy made disapproving sounds, and Mitch could practically see the big, blond ex-captain of the football team rocking back and forth on his chair. “Now, you know I can’t. A good marriage is built on honesty.” Mitch’s grip tightened on his mug, and he silently cursed. “You don’t give a shit that your wife carries your balls in her purse, do you?” Tommy’s chuckle was pure evil. “It’s a small price to pay for matrimonial bliss.” Mitch tried to think of a way out, but for the life of him he couldn’t see one. Between lack of sleep and deprived blood flow, his normally agile mind failed. “And this is nonnegotiable?” “Well, I’m reasonable.” Tommy’s voice took on the tone of a resigned man. “But, you know Mary Beth, and she does like her gossip.” Everyone in town would know about the plot by noon, and as much as Mitch wanted to delude himself, he didn’t think Maddie would stay locked in the house for a week. “Fine.” Mitch ground out through clenched teeth. “I’ll look at your nephew’s case. But I’m not making any promises.” Mary

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.

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