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

Our nature lies in movement; complete calm is death.

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

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

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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

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

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

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.

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

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.