Quotes About Marriage

A marriage is hard work and sometimes it's a bit of a bore. It's like housework. It's never finished. You've just got to grit your teeth and keep working away at it, day after day.

I don't get the obsession with strangers, her first husband, Sol, once said to her, and Frances had struggled to explain that strangers were by definition interesting. It was their strangeness. The not-knowing. Once you knew everything there was to know about someone, you were generally ready to divorce them.

They both went to opposite sides of the bed, snapped on their bedside lamps and pulled back the cover in a smooth, practiced, synchronized move that proved, depending on Madeline's mood, that they either had the perfect marriage or that they were stuck in a middle-class suburban rut and they needed to sell the house and go traveling around India.

The ones referred to obliquely and the ones discussed in frank detail. She'd give the police everything they needed to convict her husband. She would say, Here is one possible motive and here is another, because any marriage of that many years has multiple motives for murder. Every police officer and hairdresser knows that.

It was good to remember that for every horrible memory from her marriage, there was also a happy one.

If the counselor ever wrote a book about her experience as a marriage counselor she would probably mention it: I once had a patient who treated his car more tenderly than he treated his wife. (No need to mention the car was a Lamborghini, otherwise all the male readers would say, "Oh, well, then.")

And once the waves passed, there would still be the love. It was an entirely different feeling from the uncomplicated, unstinting adoration she'd felt as a young bride, walking down the aisle to that serious, handsome man; but,she knew,that no matter how much she hated him for what he'd done, she would always still love him. It was still there, like a deep seam of gold in her heart. It would always be there.

That was the secret of a happy marriage. Step away from the rage.

Why hadn't that been part of his stupid lifelong redemption program: Do what my wife asks immediately so she doesn't feel like a nag.

My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face, of course. He's far too classy for that. Does yours hit you? And if he does, and this is the question that really interests me: Do you hit back?

It was interesting how a marriage instantly became public property as soon as it looked shaky.

she thought about that too much and all it implied she could tap into a great well of rage, so she didn't think about it. That was the secret of a happy marriage: step away from the rage.

It was why marriages fell apart. It was why, if you valued your marriage, you kept a barricade around yourself and your feelings and your thoughts. You didn't let your eyes linger. You didn't stay for the second drink. You kept the flirting safe. You just didn't go there.

He was a selfish, pompous, egocentric, nasty man. She did not want to be married to him, but she did not want him to marry someone else. She did not want him, but she wanted him to want her.

How in the world had Bonnie managed to get Madeline's ex-husband out of bed at that time of the morning to go and work in a homeless shelter? Nathan wouldn't get up before 8 a.m. when they were married. Bonnie must give him organic blow-jobs.

Reader, she didn't marry him,

It's about making a choice to make your marriage a priority, to, kind of, put that at the top of the page, as your mission statement or something.

She realized she felt ashamed, as if by separating from her husband, she'd done something slightly distasteful and seedy,

marriage is hard work and sometimes it's a bit of a bore. It's like housework. It's never finished. You've just got to grit your teeth and keep working away at it, day after day. Of course, the men don't work as hard at it as we do, but that's men for you, isn't it? They're not much good at housework either.

The thought of separating from Jessica was like having his guts ripped out, but these days being married to Jessica was like having his guts ripped out. Whatever way you looked at it: guts ripped out.

It was a defense for murder, after all; why not for married couples? Marriage was a form of insanity; love hovering permanently on the edge of aggravation.

Their children had bound them together in a way that she knew didn't always happen to other couples. Sharing stories about their children—laughing about them, wondering about their futures—was one of the greatest pleasures of her marriage. She'd married John-Paul because of the father she knew he would one day be.

As soon as he woke he'd be desperate to give Celeste his gift. He loved giving presents. The first time she knew she wanted to marry him was when she saw the anticipation on his face, watching his mother open a birthday present he'd bought for her. "Do you like it?" he'd burst out as soon she tore the paper, and his family had all laughed at him for sounding like a big kid.

My husband hits me, Renata. Never on the face of course. He's far too classy for that. Does yours hit you?