Our nature lies in movement; complete calm is death.

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.”

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.

More and more I like to take a train. I understand why the French prefer it to automobiling—it is so much more sociable, and of course these days so much more of an adventure, and the irregularity of its regularity is fascinating.

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

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

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

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.

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

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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.