There is a boy. Across the horizon he sees a house. He knows it's his home. So he walks, gaining nothing. The house is ever there, unreachable. He stops, rests. Hands folded under head. Dreams of home. Heartbeat on hard ground. And he walks. A man now, it would seem. The years have made him as stone. To his dying breath he does this. All in vain. He never had a home.
I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do - Robert A Heinlein