When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

Of the gladdest moments in human life, methinks, is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one mighty effort the fetters of Habit, the leaden weight of Routine, the cloak of many Cares and the slavery of Civilization, man feels once more happy.

I love to sail forbidden seas and land on barbarous coasts.

Where's your sense of misadventure?

If you're not happy with yourself, how can you even begin to figure out if another person makes you happy, annoyed, angry, sad and so on.

Misadventure was my primary compass and I followed it without caring if I pissed off one person or a whole bunch of people.