This is the Law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; That surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't sit still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

I have an intense dislike for artificial society. In France, one could lead a free life - to do what one wanted to do without interference or criticism from one's neighbors.

Oh it is good to ride and run,
To roam the greenwood wild and free;
To hunt, to idle in the sun,
To leap into the laughing sea

Avoid extremes: be moderate In saving and in spending; An equable and easy gait Will win an easy ending.

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.