Travel is the most private of pleasures. There is no greater bore than the travel bore. We do not in the least want to hear what he has seen in Hong-Kong.
Travel makes a wise man better, and a fool worse
Travelers are like poets. They are mostly an angry race.
Traveling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places.
Traveling is like gambling: it is always connected with winning and losing, and generally where it is least expected we receive, more or less than what we hoped for.
Traveling is not just seeing the new; it is also leaving behind. Not just opening doors; also closing them behind you, never to return. But the place you have left forever is always there for you to see whenever you shut your eyes.
Traveling makes a man wiser, but less happy.
Traveling, you realize that differences are lost: each city takes to resembling all cities, places exchange their form, order, distances, a shapeless dust cloud invades the continents.
Travelling is like flirting with life. It's like saying, ''I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.''
Using a camera appeases the anxiety which the work-driven feel about not working when they are on vacation and supposed to be having fun. They have something to do that is like a friendly imitation of work: they can take pictures.
Visits always give pleasure; if not the arrival, the departure.
We travelers are in very hard circumstances. If we say nothing but what has been said before us, we are dull and have observed nothing. If we tell anything new, we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic.
What childishness is it that while there's breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around?
When I was very young and the urge to be someplace was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. In other words, I don't improve, in further words, once a bum always a bum. I fear the disease is incurable.
When one realizes that his life is worthless he either commits suicide or travels.
Without stirring abroad, one can know the whole world; Without looking out of the window one can see the way of heaven. The further one goes the less one knows.
Worth seeing? Yes; but not worth going to see.
Writing and travel broaden your ass if not your mind and I like to write standing up.
You perceive I generalize with intrepidity from single instances. It is the tourist's custom.
Your true traveler finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty — his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.
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