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| Please don't use the "Send Page" feature of your computer to send this entire page in an e-mail message or document format. If you'd like to share it, please just send the link. The link to this page is: http://www.thepastwhispers.com/Amalfi.html |
| Music: Velvet and Diamonds The Past Whispers - Home Old New Orleans Friday's Journal |
| The photographs on this page are courtesy of Freemages; StephenFrank; Capitanoao; Wikimedia Commons and Sudodana2048; Flickr Creative Commons and Michel27; FrankMaurer; RitaWillaert; TheConsortium; zymil; masondan |
| Place of Dreams |
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| The photos on this page are from the Amalfi Coast, in the Salerno Province of southern Italy. The picturesque, medieval villages, built into the steep mountains, provide stunningly beautiful scenery. Until recent times, the villages were isolated by the mountains and accessible only by sea. John Steinbeck made the village of Positano famous in a 1950's essay by that name, saying about the area, "It is a magical place of dreams - not quite real when you are there, but becoming beckoningly real after you've gone." Today, it's a popular tourist destination, visited by thousands of people every year. The Amalfi Coast has been recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site and it was chosen by National Geographic Magazine as one of "The 50 Places You Must Visit in Your Lifetime," under their category titled "Paradise Found." |
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| It isn't the things you do, dear, it's the things you leave undone Which give you a bit of a heartache at the setting of the sun. The tender work forgotten, the letter you didn't write, Flowers you didn't send, dear, are your haunting ghosts at night. The stone you might have lifted out of a brother's way, The bit of heartsome counsel you were hurried too much to say; The loving touch of the hand, dear, the gentle, winning tone, Which you had no time or thought for, with troubles enough of your own. Those little acts of kindness so easily out of mind, Those chances to be angels which we poor mortals find, They come in night and silence, each sad, reproachful wraith, When hope is faint and flagging, and a chill has fallen on faith. For life is all too short, dear, and sorrow is all too great, To suffer our slow compassion that tarries until too late. And it isn't the things you do, dear, it's the things you leave undone Which give you a bit of heartache at the setting of the sun. -- Margaret E. Sangster |
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| Sometimes someone says something really small, and it just fits right into an empty place in your heart. -- Author Unknown |
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| I would prefer to make mistakes in kindness rather than work miracles in unkindness. -- Mother Teresa |
| In the end, only kindness matters. -- Jewel Kilcher |
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