Quotes About Travel

He has no desire to explore the World. (pg. 49)

I am not home. I am here.

Greece was a long lesson in my insignificance.

Falling in love wouldn't have been such a disaster if she'd been curious or even willing to travel. But no, he'd fallen for a woman with roots so deep into an estate that she was willing to stay on even when she no longer had any claim to it.

You must drink lots of wine. We must get you normal again. I don't want to travel with an imbecile. Not that I'm quite right in the head myself. What have I let myself in for?

I decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover, and that I would never learn a word of shorthand. If I never learned shorthand I would never have to use it.

I had decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover.

I remember a blue eye, A briefcase of tangerines.

So I bandaged the cut, packed up my Gillette blades and caught the eleven-thirty bus to Boston.

Wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stweing in my own sour air.

I thought it would be the way I'd feel if I ever visited Europe. I'd come home, and if I looked closely into the mirror I'd be able to make out a little white Alp at the back of my eye.

I'm so jealous I can't speak. Nineteen years, and I hadn't been out of New England except for this trip to New York. It was my first big chance, but here I was, sitting back and letting it run through my fingers like so much water.

Amazing how money would simplify problems like ours. We wouldn't go wild at all, but write & travel & study all of our lives - which I hope we do anyway. And have a house apart, by the side of no road, with country about & a study & walls of bookcases.

The journey not the arrival matters.

But that is enough of such worrying. The river is waiting, and our hearts must be light, so we can faster travel.

In moments of great uncertainty on my travels, I have always felt that something is protecting me, that I will come to no harm.

As anyone who's ever taken an Ethiopian bus knows, there is an unwritten rule that the windows must remain firmly closed.

As a travel writer I've specialized in gritty, fearful destinations, the kind of places that make a reader's hair stick on end.

At the dealership, I pulled out the sieve and toyed with it threateningly. When the salesman was ready for me, I held it up, told him I was not a tourist and demanded a large discount.

The mere mention of the Farakka Express, which jerks its way eastward each day from Delhi to Calcutta, is enough to throw even a seasoned traveller into fits of apoplexy. At a desert encampment on Namibia's Skeleton Coast, a hard-bitten adventurer had downed a peg of local fire-water then told me the tale. Farakka was a ghost train, he said, haunted by ghouls, Thuggees, and thieves. Only a passenger with a death wish would go anywhere near it.

Back at the guest house I tried to acclimatise. A travel-worn adventurer had once told me that leaning with one's head dangling over the end of a bed was the best way to achieve this. It was while I was in this position, the blood rushing to my temples, that the door swung open.

I'm a fool, that I should simply trick the tourists like everyone else. after all, most of them will never come back. and what are tourists for but for tricking?

In any case, a little danger is a small price to pay for ridding a place of tourists.

It was like trying to balance on a pair of knife blades. Who had thought of this mad form of travel in the first place? And why had no one locked them up before they passed their dangerous ideas on to others?