There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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

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.

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.”

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.

It is delightful to read on the spot the impressions and opinions of tourists who visited a hundred years ago, in the vehicles and with the aesthetic prejudices of the period, the places which you are visiting now. The voyage ceases to be a mere tour through space; you travel through time and thought as well.

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

When a traveler returneth home, let him not leave the countries where he hath traveled altogether behind him.

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

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

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.