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.

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

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

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.

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

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.”

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

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.

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.

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

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

Our nature lies in movement; complete calm is death.