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.”

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

More and more I like to take a train. I understand why the French prefer it to automobiling—it is so much more sociable, and of course these days so much more of an adventure, and the irregularity of its regularity is fascinating.

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.

Our nature lies in movement; complete calm is death.

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 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.

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.

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

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.

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

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