I think that to get under the surface and really appreciate the beauty of any country, one has to go there poor.

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 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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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 is nothing worse for mortals than a wandering life.

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.”

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

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.”