Travel and Horizons

One must travel, to learn. Every day, now, old Scriptural phrases that never possessed any significance for me before, take to themselves a meaning.

For nimble thought can jump both sea and land.

We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!

A batter’d, wreck’d old man, Thrown on this savage shore, far from home, Pent by the sea and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken’d and nigh to death, I take my way along the island’s edge, Venting a heavy heart.

‘What’s the good of Mercator’s North Poles and Equators,

AM IN MARKET HARBOROUGH. WHERE OUGHT i TO BE?

Enter these enchanted woods,

A good traveller is one who does not know where he is going to, and a perfect traveller does not know where he came from.

after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us.

The rule for traveling abroad is to take our common sense with us, and leave our prejudices behind.

As the traveller who has been once from home is wiser than he who has never left his own door step, so a knowledge of one other culture should sharpen our ability to scrutinise more steadily, to appreciate more lovingly, our own.

Make voyages!—Attempt them! —there’s nothing else.

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

 

The deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, ’Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows, for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

 

Those who become enamored of the art, without having previously applied to the diligent study of the scientific part of it, may be compared to mariners who put to the sea in a ship without rudder or compass and therefore cannot be certain of arriving at the wished for port.

A man accustomed to American food and American domestic cookery would not starve to death suddenly in Europe, but I think he would gradually waste away, and eventually die.

It has been said that a Scotchman has not seen the world until he has seen Edinburgh; and I think that I may say that an American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

Some unsuspected isle in far-off seas.

The untented Kosmos my abode, I pass, a willful stranger; My mistress still the open road And the bright eyes of danger.

I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some say when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on, I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone.

Look, stranger, at this island now.

From the lone shieling of the misty island

If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in your medieval hand.

I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.