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.”

One should always have one’s boots on and be ready to leave.

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.

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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.