The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel, do just as one pleases. We go on a journey chiefly to be free of all impediments and of all inconveniences—to leave ourselves behind, much more to get rid of others.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

All traveling becomes dull in exact proportion to its rapidity.

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