To the untravelled, territory other than their own familiar heath is invariably fascinating. Next to love, it is the one thing which solaces and delights. Things new are too important to be neglected, and mind, which is a mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the flood of objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows laid aside, death hidden from view. There is a world of accumulated feeling back of the trite dramatic expression — “I am going away.”
"Your planet is very beautiful," he said.
"Has it any oceans?"
"I couldn't tell you," said the geographer.
"Ah!" The Little Prince was disappointed.
"Has it any mountains?"
"I couldn't tell you," said the geographer.
"And towns, and rivers, and deserts?"
"I couldn't tell you that, either."
"But you are a geographer!"
"Exactly," the geographer said.
"But I am not an explorer.
I haven't a single explorer on my planet.
It is not the geographer who goes out to count the towns, the rivers, the mountains, the seas, the oceans, and the deserts.
The geographer is much too important to go loafing about.
He does not leave his desk."
Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness.
All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.
We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.
— Well, don't lose this one. There's a lifetime of memories in this suitcase.
— Like what memories? He never even...
— The ones of all the trips we didn't get to take.