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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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.

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.”

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

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