I think that to get under the surface and really appreciate the beauty of any country, one has to go there poor.

When a traveler returneth home, let him not leave the countries where he hath traveled altogether behind him.

Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will—whatever we may think.

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.

The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.

A traveler’s chief aim should be to make men wiser and better, and to improve their minds by the bad—as well as good—example of what they deliver concerning foreign places.

People commonly travel the world over to see rivers and mountains, new stars, garish birds, freak fish, grotesque breeds of human; they fall into an animal stupor that gapes at existence, and they think they have seen something.

Traveling is like flirting with life. It’s like saying, “I would stay here and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.”

See one promontory (said Socrates of old), one mountain, one sea, one river, and see all.

Those who travel heedlessly from place to place, observing only their distance from each other and attending only to their accommodation at the inn at night, set out fools, and will certainly return so.

The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes “sightseeing.”

It is delightful to read on the spot the impressions and opinions of tourists who visited a hundred years ago, in the vehicles and with the aesthetic prejudices of the period, the places which you are visiting now. The voyage ceases to be a mere tour through space; you travel through time and thought as well.