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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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 is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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.

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