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

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.

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.

There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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

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

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.

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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.”

Traveling is like gambling: it is ever connected with winning and losing, and generally where least expected we receive more or less than we hoped for.

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

Travelers, poets, and liars are three words all of one significance.

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