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.

The traveler with nothing on him sings in the robber’s face.

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

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

Travelers, poets, and liars are three words all of one significance.

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.

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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

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.

Traveling is like gambling: it is ever connected with winning and losing, and generally where least expected we receive more or less than we hoped for.

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.

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.