For Now It Seems That By Advancing

I Will Always Be Haunted By Thoughts Of A Sun-drenched Elsewhere.

A Nomad I Was Even When I Was Very Small And Would Stare At The Road, That White Spellbinding Road Headed Straight For The Unknown ... A Nomad I Will Remain For Life, In Love With Distant And Uncharted Places.

I Think It Is Impossible For Human Minds To Think Of Death As A Final, Irrevocable End To Life.

But The Vagrant Owns The Whole Vast Earth That Ends Only At The Nonexistent Horizon, And His Empire Is An Intangible One, For His Domination And Enjoyment Of It Are Things Of The Spirit.

A Subject To Which Few Intellectuals Ever Give A Thought Is The Right To Be A Vagrant, The Freedom To Wander. Yet Vagrancy Is A Deliverance, And Life On The Open Road Is The Essence Of Freedom. To Have The Courage To Smash The Chains With Which Modern Life Has Weighted Us (under The Pretext That It Was Offering Us More Liberty), Then To Take Up The Symbolic Stick And Bundle And Get Out.