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.
Robert Louis Stevenson · Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes
Joy & wonder
“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel…”
- Author
- Robert Louis Stevenson
- Work
- Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes
- Year
- 1879
- Length
- 53 words
- Source
- Project Gutenberg eBook #535
Public domain. This passage is in the public domain. Robert Louis Stevenson died in 1894, more than 70 years ago, and the work was first published in 1879. You can copy, print, read aloud or sell it without asking permission; a credit is kind but not required. The text is copied word for word from the Project Gutenberg edition linked here.
Related passages
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,Healthy, free, the world before me,The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,Strong and content I travel the open road.
Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing—absolute nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.
Kenneth GrahameThe Wind in the Willows, 1908 · Chapter I: The River Bank
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I am a part of all that I have met;Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fadesFor ever and for ever when I move.
Alfred, Lord TennysonThe Early Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1842 · Ulysses
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Little do ye know your own blessedness; for to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labour.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade.And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;There midnight’s all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,And evening full of the linnet’s wings.I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
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