Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.

A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.

We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.

To travel is to live.

Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.