The spirit, Sir, is one of mockery.

There is no progress whatever. Everything is just the same as it was thousands, and tens of thousands, of years ago. The outward form changes. The essence does not change.

For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move; to feel the needs and hitches of our life more nearly; to come down off this feather-bed of civilisation, and find the globe granite underfoot and strewn with cutting flints.

I hazard the guess that man will be ultimately known for a mere polity of multifarious, incongruous, and independent denizens.

The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

Sightseeing is the art of disappointment.

I am in the habit of looking not so much to the nature of a gift as to the spirit in which it is offered.