It is a splendid thing to think that the woman you really love will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time, through the mask of years, if you really love her, you will always see the face you loved and won. And a woman who really loves a man does not see that he grows old; he is not decrepit to her; he does not tremble; he is not old; she always sees the same gallant gentleman who won her hand and heart. I like to think of it in that way; I like to think that love is eternal. And to love in that way and then go down the hill of life together, and as you go down, hear, perhaps, the laughter of grandchildren, while the birds of joy and love sing once more in the leafless branches of the tree of age.

She did understand, or at least she understood that she was supposed to understand. She understood, and said nothing about it, and prayed for the power to forgive, and did forgive. But he can't have found living with her forgiveness all that easy. Breakfast in a haze of forgiveness: coffee with forgiveness, porridge with forgiveness, forgiveness on the buttered toast. He would have been helpless against it, for how can you repudiate something that is never spoken? She resented, too, the nurse, or the many nurses, who had attended my father in the various hospitals. She wished him to owe his recovery to her alone—to her care, to her tireless devotion. That is the other side of selflessness: its tyranny.

Reality has a way of bursting the bubble of illusion, and an affair is one of the biggest illusions that anyone can experience in life. It’s based almost entirely on emotions with almost no logic to support it. That fact becomes clear when children, employers, clergy, family, and friends all hear about the affair. Because they are not in the fog, they see the affair for what it really is: the cruelest, most devastating, and selfish act anyone can ever inflict on a spouse. With so many people seeing the situation logically and not emotionally, the unfaithful spouse has an opportunity to be advised and influenced by these people. Furthermore, the betrayed spouse gains support when he or she needs it the most.

A woman has to change her nature if she is to be a wife. She has to learn to curb her tongue, to suppress her desires, to moderate her thoughts and to spend her days putting another first. She has to put him first even when she longs to serve herself or her children. She has to put him first even if she longs to judge for herself. She has to put him first even when she knows best. To be a good wife is to be a woman with a will of iron that you yourself have forged into a bridle to curb your own abilities. To be a good wife is to enslave yourself to a lesser person. To be a good wife is to amputate your own power as surely as the parents of beggars hack off their children's feet for the greater benefit of the family.

We’re in an a bit of an awkward situation. When the institution of marriage first came about, people commonly got married at around the same age that they began to develop feelings for the opposite sex. This is no longer the case. 13, 14 - these are no longer appropriate ages to be getting married. Now, you do not get married until you’re out of college, at least. If you get married any earlier, you’re looked down upon.So, what we have is a gap. A gap between when we begin to be attracted to the opposite sex, and when we’re allowed to give into that attraction. A gap between now and then. A fairly large gap, I might add. About a 10 or 12 year gap. I believe that dating was designed to bridge that gap.

mais je crois qu’elle aurait tout autant de chances d’être heureuse, si elle épousait Mr. Bingley demain que si elle se met à étudier son caractère pendant une année entière ; car le bonheur en ménage est pure affaire de hasard. La félicité de deux époux ne m’apparaît pas devoir être plus grande du fait qu’ils se connaissaient à fond avant leur mariage ; cela n’empêche pas les divergences de naître ensuite et de provoquer les inévitables déceptions. Mieux vaut, à mon avis, ignorer le plus possible les défauts de celui qui partagera votre existence !

Well, Hilda and I were married, and right from the start it was a flop. Why did you marry her? you say. Why did you marry yours? These things happen to us. I wonder whether you'll believe that during the first two or three years I had serious thoughts of killing Hilda. Of course in practice one never does these things, they're only a kind of fantasy one enjoys thinking about. Besides, chaps who murder their wives always get copped. However cleverly you've faked the alibi, they know perfectly well that it's you who did it, and they'll pin it onto you somehow.When a woman's bumped off, her husband is always the first suspect -which gives you a little side glimpse of what people really think about marriage.

Jack prese la lettera, borbottò uno «scusami» e si ritirò. Tornò poco dopo, più alto, più dritto nella persona, il volto raggiante. «Signore Iddio, Stephen, è la lettera più bella che io abbia mai ricevuto. Grazie, grazie tante!»Afferrò la mano di Stephen, fissandolo con infinita benevolenza. «È scritta benissimo anche, una mano così delicata!» Si guardò intorno in uno stato di frastornata felicità, poi estrasse il violino dalla custodia, il violino rimasto a lungo in ozio, e si lanciò in un virtuosismo straordinario, interrotto dal fischietto del nostromo quando il comandante Fanshawe fu accolto a bordo.

[Their marriage] will not be all cakes and ale.... They are too much alike to be the ideal match. Patty is thick-skinned and passionate, too ready to be hurt to the heart by the mere little pinpricks and mosquito bites of life; and Paul is proud and crotchety, and, like the great Napoleon, given to kick the fire with his boots when he is put out. There will be many little gusts of temper, little clouds of misunderstanding, disappointments, and bereavements, and sickness of mind and body; but with all this, they will find their lot so blessed, by reason of the mutual love and sympathy tat, through all the vicissitudes, will surely grow deeper and stronger every day they live together, that they will not know how to conceive a better one.

Daily I walk around my small, picturesque town with a thought bubble over my head: Person Going Through A Divorce. When I look at other people, I automatically form thought bubbles over their heads. Happy Couple With Stroller. Innocent Teenage Girl With Her Whole Life Ahead Of Her. Content Grandmother And Grandfather Visiting Town Where Their Grandchildren Live With Intact Parents. Secure Housewife With Big Diamond. Undamaged Group Of Young Men On Skateboards. Good Man With Baby In BabyBjörn Who Loves His Wife. Dogs Who Never Have To Worry. Young Kids Kissing Publicly. Then every so often I see one like me, one of the shambling gaunt women without makeup, looking older than she is: Divorcing Woman Wondering How The Fuck This Happened.

She wanted to explain everything to him—how certain notes of the Moonlight Sonata shredded her heart like wind inside a paper bag; how her soul felt as endless and deep as the sea churning on their left; how the sight of the young Muslim couple filled her with an emotion that was equal parts joy and sadness; and above all, how she wanted a marriage that was different from the dead sea of marriages she saw all around her, how she wanted something finer, deeper, a marriage made out of silk and velvet instead of coarse cloth, a marriage made of clouds and stardust and red earth and ocean foam and moonlight and sonatas and books and art galleries and passion and kindness and sorrow and ecstasy and of fingers touching from under a burqua.

The point I was trying to make before you interrupted with your inventoryof my personality is that neither of us is going to be able to stay celibate for the next six months."She dropped her eyes. If only he knew that she'd stayed that way all her life.We'll be living in close quarters," he went on. "We're legally married, and it's only natural that we're going to get it on."Get it on? His bluntness reminded her that none of this meant anything to him emotionally, and contrary to all logic, she'd wanted to hear something romantic. With some pique, she said, "In other words, you expect me to keep house, work for the circus, and 'get it on' with you."He thought it over. "I guess that's about the size of it.

Deseaba llamar a Sophie. Un día incluso fui hasta la oficina de correos y esperé en la cola de las llamadas al extranjero pero no llegué a llamarla. Ahora las palabras me fallaban constantemente y me entró pánico ante la idea de derrumbarme en el teléfono. ¿Qué podía decirle, después de todo? En lugar de eso, le mandé una postal de Laurel y Hardy. En la parte de atrás escribí: "Los verdadero matrimonios nunca tienen sentido. Mira la pareja del dorso. Prueba que cualquier cosa es posible, ¿no? Quizá deberíamos empezar a ponernos sombreros hongo. Por lo menos, acuérdate de vaciar el armario antes de que yo vuelva. Abrazos a Ben

The importance of falling in love lies not in how it feels, but in what it perceives. And as always with our feelings, the key moral issue is how truthful the perception is... Falling in love is a sign that this might be someone with whom you could make a good marriage. Still, it's not enough, because the feeling is not always as perceptive as it should be... So falling in love is not the basis for a good marriage. It's not even a requirement. Marriage does not depend on falling in love; it depends on the promises you make to each other in your wedding vows and then spend a lifetime keeping. As many people have pointed out, you can't promise how you'll feel. But you can promise to cultivate a virtue, such as the virtue of love.

Interrupting what promised to be a long spate of fatherly advice, St. Vincent said in a clipped voice, “It’s not a love match. It’s a marriage of convenience, and there’s not enough warmth between us to light a birthday candle. Get on with it, if you please. Neither of us has had a proper sleep in two days.”Silence fell over the scene, with MacPhee and his two daughters appearing shocked by the brusque remarks. Then the blacksmith’s heavy brows lowered over his eyes in a scowl. “I don’t like ye,” he announced.St. Vincent regarded him with exasperation. “Neither does my bride-to-be. But since that’s not going to stop her from marrying me, it shouldn’t stop you either. Go on.