Travel (n.) done all the time leaves you with many acquaintances and no friends — and so does reading every author in a hurry.
Travel (n.) cannot cure discontent: you need a change of soul, not of climate, because you always take yourself with you.
Travel (n.) does no good to a man who carries himself along — he is saddled with the very thing that drove him away.
Travel (n.) has never cured a single fault; it only distracts us for a while with novelty, like children with a new toy.
Travel (n.) without knowing what to aim at and what to avoid is not travelling but drifting.
Travel (n.) does nothing for the man who goes in his own company — "It serves you right," said Socrates, "you travelled with yourself."
Travel (n.) ling (n.) cannot give us judgment, or shake off our errors; it merely holds our attention for a moment by a certain novelty, as children pause to wonder at something unfamiliar.
Travel (n.) is mere wandering until it teaches what is worth fleeing and what worth pursuing, what is necessary and what superfluous.