Under The Volcano - pg. 213

The Consul felt a pang. Ah, to have a horse, and gallop away, singing, away to someone you loved perhaps, into the heart of all the simplicity and peace in the world; was not that like the opportunity afforded man by life itself? Of course not. Still, just for a moment, it had seemed that it was.
"What is it Goethe says about the horse?" he said. " 'Weary of liberty he suffered himself to be saddled and bridled, and was ridden to death for his pains.' "