Quotes About Marriage

It was not a healthy marriage for long time. It was never about another man, it was about what my and Dennis's relationship could not sustain.

But, she knew, you didn't have to marry your soulmate, and you didn't even have to marry an Interesting. You didn't always need to be the dazzler, the firecracker, the one who cracked everyone up, or made everyone want to sleep with you, or be the one who wrote and starred in the play that got the standing ovation. You could cease to be obsessed with the idea of being interesting.

People's marriages were like two-person religious cults, impossible to understand.

We had a good marriage," he said. "I just thought it would be so much longer." Then he shrugged, and coughed away a sob, this thin man in his sixties with the soft androgynous face that aging seemed to bring, as though all the hormones were finally mixed up in a big coed pot because it just didn't matter anymore.

Parents should be completely dull and ordinary and predictable. You want their relationship to be stable and incredibly boring, as though you would kill yourself if you had to be in that marriage." Neither

Edie was a gorgeous, avant-garde girl back in the day when that could be a full-time occupation, but in marriage she slowly became less wild. To Manny's great disappointment, though, her domestic skills didn't rise to the fore as her sexual and artistic ones receded.

Marriage, I don't think, is like that. It's something else. It's a thing in which you get to see your closest friend become more of who she already is.

Every marriage is just two people striking a bargain," he went on in a softer tone. "I traded, you traded. So maybe it wasn't even.

Wives tend, they hover. Their ears are twin sensitive instruments, satellites picking up the slightest scrape of dissatisfaction. Wives bring broth, we bring paper clips, we bring ourselves and our pliant, warm bodies. We know just what to say to the men who for some reason have a great deal of trouble taking consistent care of themselves or anyone else.

knew everything about him, the way wives do. I even knew the inside of him, having been there that day in Dr. Ruffner's office to review the footage of Joe's colon. We sat and watched light travel through his most intimate inner tubing, and after that we were really bound together for life.

Everyone needs a wife; even wives need wives. Wives tend, they hover. Their ears are twin sensitive instruments, satellites picking up the slightest scrape of dissatisfaction. Wives bring broth, we bring paper clips, we bring ourselves and our pliant, warm bodies. We know just what to say to the men who for some reason have a great deal of trouble taking consistent care of themselves or anyone else.

Joe once told me he felt a little sorry for women, who only got husbands. Husbands tried to help by giving answers, being logical, stubbornly applying force as though it were a glue gun. Or else they didn't try to help at all, for they were somewhere else entirely, out walking in the world by themselves. But wives, oh wives, when they weren't being bitter or melancholy or counting the beads on their abacus of disappointment, they could take care of you with delicate and effortless ease.

Married life proved not very different from premarried life, except now there was the desire for solidity instead of expansion.

But, she knew, you didn't have to marry your soulmate, and you didn't even have to marry an Interesting. You didn't always need to be the dazzler, the firecracker, the one who cracked everyone up, or made everyone want to sleep with you, or be the one who wrote and starred in the play that got the standing ovation. You could cease to be obsessed with the idea of being interesting. Anyway, she knew, the definition could change; it had changed, for her.

What sort of man would stay with her and not be threatened by her excesses, her rage, her spirit, her skill? Who was he, this phantom, unthreatened husband who was still attractive and strong himself? Maybe he lived under a rock somewhere, sliding out once in a while to celebrate the big ideas of his brilliant wife, before returning to the shadows.

You've got that extra gene, that sensitivity toward women. That unwillingness to objectify the opposite sex, isn't that what they say about you? That you invent a female character and put her in a marriage, a family, a king-sized bed in the suburbs, and yet you don't feel the need to describe . . . I don't know, her pubic hair in literary terms: 'a burnt-sienna nimbus,' or whatever, like the rest of your crowd would.

Eleanor and Franklin had had six children together, but apparently Eleanor had once described sex with her husband as "an ordeal to be borne".

The pause that followed felt very important. It was one of those moments in a marriage when you have to make a critical decision with alarming speed and the consequences could last a long time, even forever.

It was one of those moments in a marriage when you have to make a critical decision with alarming speed and the consequences could last a long time, even forever.

You think I'd waste this much time on disposable pussy?" "I want you to write our wedding vows, Ajax. Really. This is like poetry.

Marriage should be a temporary relation," he wrote in his journal during the summer of his chaste tryst with Cary. "When each of two souls ha[ve] exhausted the other of that good which each held for the other, they should part in the same peace in which they met, not parting from each other, but drawn to new society. The new love is the balm to prevent a wound from forming where the old love was detached.

It was Waldo Emerson who would stay, bound to his "imperfect" marriage "because he dont believe in any thing better," and unable to forget Margaret, who, he would realize with increasing gratitude in later years, with her "radiant genius & fiery heart was perhaps the real centre that drew so many & so various individuals to a seeming union.

Waldo Emerson may have been a prize catch—"mine own angel-man," Lidian called him in an early letter to her sister. Yet becoming the wife of the free-lance philosopher also required "the giving up of an existence she thoroughly enjoyed," as one of the Emerson children later wrote, describing their mother's transformation from self-sufficient intellectual to genius domi.

Am I the only creature with a vagina who thinks that weddings are ridiculous? I'm going to elope. Just me, my hubby, and a minister on a beach in Jamaica.