A Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Men grind and grind in the mill of a truism, and nothing comes out but what was put in. But the moment they desert the tradition for a spontaneous thought, then poetry, wit, hope, virtue, learning, anecdote, and all flock to their aid.
I am filled with hatred for money, for battleships, for industry, for factories, for the grind, grind, grind of the machine on all our creative instincts.
It takes time, it's a grind. There are no shortcuts. You've got to grind and grind.
I had to realize that you can't try to get money, support yourself, and grind doing whatchu need to do at the same time. The music is the grind. You really gotta grind. You gotta find your way around. You can't be stuck tryna get there.
The Great slight the men of wit, who have nothing but wit; the men of wit despise the Great, who have nothing but greatness; the good man pities them both, if with greatness or wit they have not virtue.
The mill cannot grind with the water that is past.
The mill cannot grind with the water that has passed.
Training camp is a grind, and it truly is all about embracing that grind and coming out here and forgetting about the heat and working to get better every single day.
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.
Acting is a grind, just like music is a grind. Sometimes it takes longer than what you can give.
You've gotta learn to love the grind. Because life IS the grind.
The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly small.
I'd rather grind slow because when it land in my lap and when I get it, it's going to last longer than just shooting straight to the top and then the plane crashing because I done shot up too fast. I'd rather grind, figure the steps out and stay up there.
I think anybody that has caught before understands the grind of catching, not only the physical, the nicks, the wear and tear of squatting for nine innings night in, day out, but just the mental grind of working a pitching staff. It's demanding.
God's mills grind slow, But they grind woe.
When I am assailed with heavy tribulations, I rush out among my pigs rather than remain alone by myself. The human heart is like a millstone in a mill: when you put wheat under it, it turns and grinds and bruises the wheat to flour; if you put no wheat, it still grinds on, but then 'tis itself it grinds and wears away. So the human heart, unless it be occupied with some employment, leaves space for the devil, who wriggles himself in and brings with him a whole host of evil thoughts, temptations, and tribulations, which grind out the heart.
And a proverb haunts my mind As a spell is cast, The mill cannot grind With the water that is past.
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