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

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

In the Middle Ages people were tourists because of their religion, whereas now they are tourists because tourism is their religion.

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.”

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

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.

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

Travel is like adultery: one is always tempted to be unfaithful to one’s own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live.

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

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.

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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