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Once when I was a child my father told me he wanted me to be a great man. I don't know what he thought I was going to do. My family aren't scholars or artists or leaders of men. We're like cogs in a great machine, innumerable moving parts; worthless on our own but necessary to keep the wheels turning and the lights on. I've seen my family history going right back more than 300 years and we've never been anything other than factory workers, tinkers and blacksmiths. It's hard work for poor wages. No one will remember me when I die, but I built the fridges you get your food from at the supermarket, or made the screws that fasten the hinges to your doors or the cutlery you eat with. I was born to the factories, but before that steam drill shall beat me down, I'll die with my hammer in hand.
A life spent without having built or created something is a life wasted.
