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

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

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

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.”

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.

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.

One should always have one’s boots on and be ready to leave.

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

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

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

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.”

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.