A writer is in danger of allowing his talent to dull who lets more than a year go past without finding himself in his rightful place of composition, the small single unluxurious retreat of the twentieth century, the hotel bedroom.
To live is to see, and traveling sometimes speeds up the process.
I never was lost. I was bewildered right bad once for as much as a week, but not lost.
O, from the ancient days always there have been travelers. So why should I grieve?
Most of us have to be transplanted before we blossom.
I have not been on any river that has more of a distinctive personality than does the Missouri River. It's a river that immediately presents to the traveler, 'I am a grandfather spirit. I have a source; I have a life.
In the best travel books the word alone is implied on every exciting page, as subtle and ineradicable as a watermark.
Railways are irresistible bazaars, snaking along perfectly level no matter what the landscape, improving your mood with speed, and never upsetting your drink.
Travel is a vanishing act, a solitary trip down a pinched line of geography to oblivion.
Truly, the worst trains take one across the best landscapes.
World will suffice for me in the future.
Life, as the most ancient of all metaphors insists, is a journey; and the travel book, in its deceptive simulation of the journey's fits and starts, rehearses life's own fragmentation. More even than the novel, it embraces the contingency of things.
A traveler s thoughts in the night Wander in a thousand miles of dreams.
To be a stranger in a strange land: Whenever one feasts, one thinks of one's brother twice as much as before, There where my brother far away is ascending, The dogwood is flowering, and a man is missed.
In San Francisco, Halloween is redundant.
Spend sixteen weeks in the jungle and you being to question your own sanity, especially when you are the one goading everyone else ahead.
In Europe, where human relations like clothes are supposed to last, one's got to be wearable. In France one has to be interesting, in Italy pleasant, in England one has to fit.
Every native of every place is a potential tourist, and every tourist is a native of somewhere. Every native everywhere lives a life of overwhelming and crushing banality and boredom and desperation and depression, and every deed, good and bad, is an attempt to forget this.
I know people who are so immersed in road maps that they never see the countryside they pass through, and others who, having traced a route, are held to it as though held by flanged wheels to rails.
I travel all the time.
There is a land that I can go to When I have time to rest. All the people I love are there And those who love me best.
Being on tour sends me crazy, I drink too much and out comes the John Mcenroe in me.
A solitary traveler can sleep from state to state, from day to night, from day to day, in the long womb of its controlled interior. It is the cradle that never stops rocking after the lullaby is over. It is the biggest sleeping tablet in the world, and no one need ever swallow the pill, for it swallows them.
Sometimes travelling really intensely for a long time is like having a continuous nervous breakdown.
I associate going to an airport with work because I travel so much with my job. So when I have a few days free from work, I tend to stay at home.
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