Geography Of Saint Vincent And The Grenadines
Saint Vincent and the Grenadines is an island state in the Windward Islands of the Lesser Antilles, an island arc of the Caribbean Sea in North America. The country consists of the main island of Saint Vincent and the northern two-thirds of the Grenadines, a chain of small islands stretching south from Saint Vincent to Grenada. Its total land area is 389 km² of which 344 km² is the island of Saint Vincent. The country's capital is at Kingstown on Saint Vincent.
Read more about Geography Of Saint Vincent And The Grenadines: Grenadine Islands, Resources and Land Use
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“Where the heart is, there the muses, there the gods sojourn, and not in any geography of fame. Massachusetts, Connecticut River, and Boston Bay, you think paltry places, and the ear loves names of foreign and classic topography. But here we are; and, if we tarry a little, we may come to learn that here is best. See to it, only, that thyself is here;—and art and nature, hope and fate, friends, angels, and the Supreme Being, shall not absent from the chamber where thou sittest.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
“Where the heart is, there the muses, there the gods sojourn, and not in any geography of fame. Massachusetts, Connecticut River, and Boston Bay, you think paltry places, and the ear loves names of foreign and classic topography. But here we are; and, if we tarry a little, we may come to learn that here is best. See to it, only, that thyself is here;—and art and nature, hope and fate, friends, angels, and the Supreme Being, shall not absent from the chamber where thou sittest.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
“Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind mate, to thee!
Let’s sing a dirge for Saint Hugh’s soul,
And down it merrily.”
—Thomas Dekker (1572?–1632?)
“Lincoln, six feet one in his stocking feet,
The lank man, knotty and tough as a hickory rail,
Whose hands were always too big for white-kid gloves,
Whose wit was a coonskin sack of dry, tall tales,
Whose weathered face was homely as a plowed field.”
—Stephen Vincent Benét (1898–1943)