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

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

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.”

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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.

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.

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

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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

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

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.

If I had no duties, and no reference to futurity, I would spend my life in driving briskly in a post-chaise with a pretty woman.

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