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

Our nature lies in movement; complete calm is death.

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.

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

The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel, do just as one pleases. We go on a journey chiefly to be free of all impediments and of all inconveniences—to leave ourselves behind, much more to get rid of others.

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.

Those who travel heedlessly from place to place, observing only their distance from each other and attending only to their accommodation at the inn at night, set out fools, and will certainly return so.

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

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

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

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

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