All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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.”

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.”

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list.

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.