There is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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

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

Travel is like adultery: one is always tempted to be unfaithful to one’s own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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

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.

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

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