It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression ‘As pretty as an airport.
The magic of the street is the mingling of the errand and the epiphany.
To move, to breathe, to fly, to float, To gain all while you give, To roam the roads of lands remote, To travel is to live.
Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.
There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.
We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.
See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.
What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? – it’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you. You must travel it by yourself. It is not far. It is within reach. Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know. Perhaps it is everywhere – on water and land.
I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.
Still, there are times I am bewildered by each mile I have traveled, each meal I have eaten, each person I have known, each room in which I have slept. As ordinary as it all appears, there are times when it is beyond my imagination.