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

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

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

Travel is like adultery: one is always tempted to be unfaithful to one’s own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live.

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

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.”

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

Traveling is the ruin of all happiness! There’s no looking at a building here after seeing Italy.

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

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.

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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

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.