Henry David Thoreau Quotes

I've never really thought about settling down anywhere. I like to keep moving.

I am a voyager - and the voyage cannot mean that I stay at home.

In England, I met a couple who run a children's home. They were very kind and showed me many nice spots in England.

The land created me. I'm wild and lonesome. Even as I travel the cities, I'm more at home in the vacant lots.

It would be nice to travel if you knew where you were going and where you would live at the end or do we ever know, do we ever live where we live, we're always in other places, lost, like sheep.

Having covered some half a hundred cities, towns, villages, and wide spots in the road during the last tow years, George and I fairly wallowed in the comfort of our own home base.

I feel like I've always wanted to live in one place and stay in one place, but I always end up choosing things that make me travel.

I go to many different places many times, but I miss my house constantly.

Opportunities for kindness are flowing past us continuously, during the hours we spend at home, in the office or store or shop or laboratory where we work, as we walk along the street, as we drive hither and yon, as we travel by train or plane or bus - in short, wherever we are and whatever we are doing.

Man's real home is not a house, but the Road, and that life itself is a journey to be walked on foot.

Real travel requires a maximum of unscheduled wandering, for there is no other way of discovering surprises and marvels, which, as I see it, is the only good reason for not staying at home.

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed home and thought of here? Where should we be today?

Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains of the moon. Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known

We will go far away, to nowhere, to conquer, to fertilize until we become tired. Then we will stop and there will be our home.

If travel is searching and home what's been found, I'm not stopping. I'm going hunting.

Traveling is all very well and good as long as you knew there is a place or person you can call home

Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way!

How does it feel, how does it feel to be without a home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.

I climb, I backtrack. I float. I ramble my way home.

To roam Giddily, and be everywhere but at home, Such freedom doth a banishment become.

When it was proposed to me to go abroad, rub oft some rust, and better my condition in a worldly sense, I fear lest my life will lose some of its homeliness. If these fields and streams and woods, the phenomena of nature here, and the simple occupations of the inhabitants should cease to interest and inspire me, no culture or wealth would atone for the loss.

Travelling, I worry about luggage, prices, and strange food. At home, I am free to broaden my mind by thinking about the higher things.

Restless at home, and ever prone to range.

But why, oh why, do the wrong people travel, when the right people stay at home?

Hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road. And although this wave is stringing us along, just know you're not alone, 'cause I'm gonna make this place your home.