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

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.

Travelers, poets, and liars are three words all of one significance.

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.

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

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

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.

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.”

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.

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

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

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

When a traveler returneth home, let him not leave the countries where he hath traveled altogether behind him.