The marble keeps merely a cold and sad memory of a man who would else be forgotten. No man who needs a monument ever ought to have one.

The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers,—stern and wild ones,—and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss.

The scarlet letter.

The trees reflected in the river -- they are unconscious of a spiritual world so near to them. So are we.

The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits.

There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October.

There is no such thing in man’s nature as a settled and full resolve either for good or evil, except at the very moment of execution.

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.

We do ourselves wrong, and too meanly estimate the holiness above us, when we deem that any act or enjoyment good in itself, is not good to do religiously.

We must not always talk in the market-place of what happens to us in the forest.