Our nature lies in movement; complete calm is death.

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

More and more I like to take a train. I understand why the French prefer it to automobiling—it is so much more sociable, and of course these days so much more of an adventure, and the irregularity of its regularity is fascinating.

According to the law of custom, and perhaps of reason, foreign travel completes the education of an English gentleman.

The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel, do just as one pleases. We go on a journey chiefly to be free of all impediments and of all inconveniences—to leave ourselves behind, much more to get rid of others.

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

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

After midnight the moon set and I was alone with the stars. I have often said that the lure of flying is the lure of beauty, and I need no other flight to convince me that the reason flyers fly, whether they know it or not, is the aesthetic appeal of flying.

Thanks to the interstate highway system, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything.

If I had no duties, and no reference to futurity, I would spend my life in driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman.

I am leaving the town to the invaders: increasingly numerous, mediocre, dirty, badly behaved, shameless tourists.

There ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.

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.”