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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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

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.

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.

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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