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Neither had Watt of the Steam engine a heroic origin, any kindred with the princes of this world. The princes of this world were shooting their partridges... While this man with blackened fingers, with grim brow, was searching out, in his workshop, the Fire-secret.
— Thomas Carlyle
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If every man's internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now?
— Pietro Metastasio
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