It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps — Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
Download Customize

It is always sad to leave a place to which one knows one will never return. Such are the melancolies du voyage: perhaps they are one of the most rewarding things about traveling.

— Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert in Egypt: A Sensibility on Tour
Pin Share Tweet Telegram
Topics
tourism travel

More “Tourism” Quotes

I wore only black socks, because I had heard that white ones were the classic sign of the American tourist. Black ones t — Doug Mack, Europe on 5 Wrong Turns a Day: One Man, Eight Countries, One Vintage Travel Guide
Ah, youth!It was a beautiful night...The moon was out of orbit.The stars were awry.But everything else was exactlyas it — Roman Payne
The contortions of the gargoyles were the only therapy we had. — Sasha Martin, Life from Scratch: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Forgiveness
Tout les jours you are coming some fresh game or other on me, mais vous ne pouvez pas play this savon dodge on me twice! — Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad
I'm the only English thing they can vent their anger on. — Harold Holzer, Lincoln and the Power of the Press: The War for Public Opinion
We had a crisp, oily salad and slices of pink country sausages, an aioli of snails and cod and hard-boiled eggs with gar — Peter Mayle, A Year in Provence
Walking is a virtue, tourism is a deadly sin. — Bruce Chatwin, What Am I Doing Here?
I sat on a toilet watching the water run thinking what an odd thing tourism is. You fly off to a strange land, eagerly a — Bill Bryson, Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe
These steel monstrosities screamed night and day, blotted out the starlit skies and Northern Lights with flashing red st — Mike Bond, Killing Maine
We drove 22 miles into the country around Farmington. There were meadows and apple orchards. White fences trailed throug — Don DeLillo, White Noise
A racist notion found in neoshamanic circles is placing high value on indigenous wisdom but not on indigenous people. — S. Kelley Harrell, Teen Spirit Guide to Modern Shamanism
What we do with the product of genius is first of all ram it down to the lowest common denominator and then multiply it — John Wyndham, The Seeds of Time