Quotes About Travel

The journey is the thing.

The roaring seas and many a dark range of mountains lie between us.

Pherae. He was Ortilochus' son, whose father was Alpheus, and there they spent the night. [490] Diocles offered them the hospitality he owed to strangers who stayed there as his guests. As soon as rose-fingered early Dawn appeared, they hitched their horses, climbed in the splendid chariot, and set off from the echoing portico

around the country, fill your belly well Ã¢â'¬â€

If you love good roads, conveniences, good inns, plenty of postilions and horses, be so kind as to never go into Sussex. We thought ourselves in the northest part of England; the whole country has a Saxon air, and the inhabitants are savage. - To George Montagu, Esq., August 26, 1749

We have everywhere an absence of memory. Architects sometimes talk of building with context and continuity in mind, religious leaders call it tradition, social workers say it's a sense of community, but it is memory we have banished from our cities. We have speed and power, but no place. Travel, but no destination. Convenience, but no ease.

To the traditional traveller—let alone travel writer—this might seem absurd. The whole point of travel is to go deep. To spend time in a place, to get under its skin. How can one possibly appreciate what makes a city or a country tick in a bare ten hours

With the palms zipping past and the big sun burning down on the road ahead, I had a flash of something I hadn't felt since my first months in Europe—a mixture of ignorance and a loose, "what the hell" kind of confidence that comes on a man when the wind picks up and he begins to move in a hard straight line toward an unknown horizon.

The car suddenly veered off the road and we came to a sliding halt in the gravel. I was hurled against the dashboard. My attorney was slumped over the wheel. "What's wrong?" I yelled. "We can't stop here. This is bat country!

Old elephants limp off to the hills to die; old Americans go out to the highway and drive themselves to death with huge cars.

On the way down the hill we walked three abreast in the cobblestone street, drunk and laughing and talking like men who knew they would separate at dawn and travel to the far corners of the earth.

Arriving half-drunk in a foreign place is hard on the nerves. You have a feeling that something is wrong, that you can't get a grip.

As I came over the brink of the cliff, a few children laughed, an old hag began screeching, and the men just stared. Here was a white man with 12 Yankee dollars in his pocket and more than $ 500 worth of camera gear slung over his shoulders, hauling a typewriter, grinning, sweating, no hope of speaking the language, no place to stay—and somehow they were going to have to deal with me.

Being arrested in any airport is bad, but being arrested in the Miami airport is terrifying.

It is a straight shot from Cancun to Havana, sixty-six minutes by jet plane across the Gulf of Mexico with a Soviet-blonde stewardess serving free rum and synthetic ham and cheese sandwiches.

To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.

jammed inside the bastard for three hours.'). And that bridge, the bridge . . . have to make a pilgrimage to

The French, I knew, were well ahead in this area, constructing gigantic palaces in the centre of cities which offer every luxury to travellers prepared to pay well to avoid any real contact with the place they were visiting.

An in experienced traveler would imagine that their land contains the finest buildings, the biggest towns, the richest, best-fed, happiest people in the world.

A few hundred yards ahead a Michelin post showed where a small parochial road crossed with the highway.

they came up with the idea that I should make a round-trip of the most exciting cities of the world and describe them in beautiful, beautiful prose. This could be accomplished, they said, within a month.

When I get on an aircraft all I can see outside is wing.' The American next to her had said, 'Listen, Ma'am, you go right on seeing that wing. Start worrying when you can't see it any longer.

and roads, new roads probing endlessly, shamelessly, as though all that mattered was to be elsewhere.

A travelling salesman has a hundred cities on his patch. He knows all the distances between every pair of cities. He needs to visit each city once and end up at his starting point. What's his shortest route?