I suspect it was...the old story of the implacable necessity of a man having honour within his own natural spirit.  A man cannot live and temper his mettle without such honour.  There is deep in him a sense of the heroic quest; and our modern way of life, with its emphasis on security, its distrust of the unknown and its elevation of abstract collective values has repressed the heroic impulse to a degree that may produce the most dangerous consequences.

For me, there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path that may have heart.  There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length.  And there I travel, looking, looking, breathlessly.

Freedom from something is not freedom.