I love to travel, But hate to arrive.

He travels safest in the dark night who travels lightest.

We Spaniards know a sickness of the heart that only gold can cure.

I love to travel, But hate to arrive.

Know most of the rooms of thy native country before thou goest over the threshold thereof.

One who journeying Along a way he knows not, having crossed A place of drear extent, before him sees A river rushing swiftly toward the deep, And all its tossing current white with foam, And stops and turns, and measures back his way.