Quotes About Marriage

And when I say that is certainly true, that our marriage is over. I know what else she will say: Then you must save it. And even though I know it's hopeless- there's absolutely nothing left to save-I'm afraid if I tell her that, she'll still persuade me to try.

Joy Luck was an idea my mother remembered from the days of her first marriage in Kweilin, before the Japanese came. That's why I think of Joy Luck as her Kweilin story.

as to our hopes, our dreams, our secret desires, we couldn't talk about those. They were to vague, too frightening, too important. And so they stayed inside us, growing like a cancer, a body eating away at itself. In retrospect I'm amazed how long our marriage lasted.

I think about our marriage. The weft of our seventeen years together was so easily torn apart. Our love was as ordinary as the identical welcome mats found in the suburbs we grew up in. The fact that our bodies, our thoughts, our hearts had once moved in rhythm with each other had only fooled us into thinking we were special.

Now that our marriage is over, I know what love is. It's a trick on the brain, the adrenal glands releasing endorphins. It floods the cells that transmit worry and better sense, drowns them with biochemical bliss. You can know all these things about love, yet it remains irresistible, as beguiling as the floating arms of long sleep.

I was like that wife of Kitchen God. Nobody worshipped her either. He got all the excuses. He got all the credit. She was forgotten.

Actually, I'm hoping we might have that. A commitment through time, past, present, future... marriage.

From what I have observed, when the anesthesia of love wears off, there is always the pain of consequences. You don't have to be stupid to marry the wrong man.

I really believe that if I were not a writer, not a creator, not an experimenter, I might have been a very faithful wife.

He never treated her as a wife. He wooed her over and over again, with presents, flowers, new pleasures.

I hope you never marry a man you don't love sexually. That is what I have done. I love everything about him, the way he behaves, his face, his body, the way he works, treats me, his thoughts, his way of smiling, talking, everything except the sexual man in him. I thought I did, before we married.

The Mystic of Sex" (an essay on D. H. Lawrence published pseudonymously in The Canadian Forum, in October 1930), and its offspring, the "Unprofessional Study" of D. H. Lawrence, published in 1932, reflect her own urgent needs to express her sexuality, to reorder the framework of her marriage, as much, perhaps, as they were a passionate defense (the first by a woman) of a much maligned fellow artist.

I had a thought tonight that it was to a woman like you I should have been married. Or, is it that love, in the beginning, always inspires such thoughts?

Someone told me the delightful story of the crusader who put a chastity belt on his wife and gave the key to his best friend for safekeeping, in case of his death. He had ridden only a few miles away when his friend, riding hard, caught up with him, saying 'You gave me the wrong key!

I really believe that if I were not a writer, not a creator, not an experimenter, I might have been a very faithful wife. I think highly of faithfulness. But my temperament belongs to the writer, not to the woman

In Pakistan, you often find that a wife is Shia, the husband Sunni. And in the past this was never a problem, but now extremists want to divide us. Sufism and Sufi shrines play a very important role against this, by bridging Sunni and Shia. When someone asks me if I am Sunni or Shia I reply that like my saints I really do not care. It is irrelevant. I think only of the will of God.

Conchita Clossen in Edith Wharton's unfinished novel of transatlantic husband hunting, The Buccaneers.

Robert crede c? ÅŸtie tot despre mine. Nici m?car nu b?nuieÅŸte c? pot avea o via?? a mea, independent? de a lui. M? consider? doar drept o anex?. Îi sunt necesar? pentru a se simÅ£i confortabil instalat în existen??. Sunt soÅ£ia lui.

Up until then I had lived for myself or at least inside of myself. I had gotten married without imagining that my wife was anything more than a comrade, without realizing precisely that because of our union my life could be changed.

I have often noticed with married couples how intolerably irritating the slightest protuberance of character in the one may be to the other, because in the course of life in common it continually rubs up against the same place. And if the rub is reciprocal, married life is nothing but a hell.

marriage nothing but a lugubrious barter with slavery as its upshot.

In the early part of the marriage, the anger was intrinsic to the sex act, be cause it was an inevitable consequence of being finished with it: satiation. [...] Later, the rage and hatred were intrinsic to the sex, because the sex had brought him to her and he had contempt for her.

In the suburbs of Delaware, spring meant not young love and damp flowers but an ugly divorce from winter and a second marriage to buxom summer.

Why do today's young men insist on marrying? Was this why we all threw stones at the police, for weddings