An interesting aside, at least for me, is a poem by Antonio Machado.
It's quoted at the beginning of the last chapter of Joseph Chilton Pearce’s book.
Walker, your footsteps
are the road, and nothing more.
Walker, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
Walker, you make the road,
and turning to look behind
you see the path you never
again will step upon.
Walker, there is not road,
only foam trails on the sea.