"When I go abroad I always sail from Boston because it is such a pleasant place to get away from"

Oliver Herford’s witty observation about Boston holds a dual edge that blends humor with subtle social commentary. The line captures a classic technique of dry irony, offering a playful insult thinly veiled as a compliment. At face value, the statement could seem to praise Boston as a ‘pleasant’ city, but the real jest is in its second half, suggesting that its very pleasantness, or perhaps something about its character, makes one eager to leave.

The humor relies on a reversal of expectation: typically, people choose to depart from a place they enjoy because departure points are logical or convenient, or they look forward to coming back. Herford, instead, frames the city’s appeal as rooted in how much he prefers to get away from it, turning supposed fondness into a clever dig. There’s a tongue-in-cheek implication that Boston might have quirks, irritations, or social atmosphere that inspire departures rather than arrivals.

On another level, Herford’s line briefly touches upon the nature of travel and our relationships with cities. It raises questions about whether any place, no matter how ‘pleasant,’ might feel confining or repetitive to those who reside there long enough. For frequent travelers, the motivation to leave stems not only from the flaws of a particular place, but from the allure of difference and discovery elsewhere; even beloved homes can grow stale with time. Herford lampoons this impulse, poking fun at restlessness by highlighting how comfort or familiarity sometimes becomes a reason to escape.

Ultimately, the remark exhibits both light-hearted mockery and a nuanced view of how we experience belonging and displacement. The clever phrasing endears Herford to readers who appreciate wit, while quietly acknowledging the universal desire for change, even if our departures begin from places we claim to cherish.