The sincerest love is the love of food. Marrying for love may be a little risky, but it is so honest that God can’t help but smile on it. Whenever a man starts the door of his car for his wife, you can make sure of one thing: either the car is new or the wife is. Love might be blind but marriage is a genuine eye-opener! Love is short-term insanity curable by marriage.
Marriage is the triumph of creativity over cleverness. The second relationship is the triumph of hope over experience. Bachelors should be intensely taxed. It isn’t fair that some men should be happier than others. A man is imperfect until he could be married. My wife and I were happy for twenty years – then we met.
The most happy marriage I could picture would be the union of the deaf man to a blind woman. One good spouse will probably be worth two good wives; for the scarcer things are, the more they are valued. The secret of the happy marriage remains a secret. Whatever you may look like, marry a man your own age – as your beauty fades, so will his eyesight.
If love is the answer, could you rephrase the question? Arguments are unsafe with wives, because they are examined by them; but they do not examine compliments. One can pass upon a wife a go with that is three-fourths bottom metal; she will not bite it to see if it is good; all she notices is the size of it, not the product quality. All tragedies are completed by a death, all comedies with a marriage. Men marry women with the expectation they will never change. Women marry men with the expectation they’ll change.
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Invariably they may be both disappointed. Marriage is a three ring circus: gemstone, wedding band, and suffering. Many a guy owes his success to his first wife and his second wife to his success. Do you know what this means to come home at night to a female who’ll give you a little love, a little affection, a little tenderness? I’ve acquired misfortune with both my wives. I wedded Miss Right. I simply didn’t know her first name was Always. I asked my partner where she wanted to go for our anniversary. THEREFORE I recommended your kitchen.
And a sharpened pang of unease started to grow in my own upper body as I realized that she’d been under water too long, that she had to be operating out of air. I ducked back under the water. She was further out in the water now, her hair visible through the murky water barely. I began to swim after her. I’d catch her, I thought, and pull her to the top. She needed help and I thought I was a strong enough swimmer, that I spent plenty of time in the ocean that I could do that.
I continued to be under water so long as I could, wanting to keep her in eyeshot. My lungs burnt when I surfaced and I gulped down frantic, hurried gasps of air, and then dove back again under. I could no see her much longer. I twisted in the water, searching, until my lungs began to turn to fire once more, and I surfaced.
Exhaled, sucking in air, and dove under. I was beginning to stress, thinking that it was too late, that she’d drowned, and I didn’t know what to do. Did I return to the shore? It’d be late too. The sea would have used her and they’d find her again never.
It happened each year. Something grabbed my ankle. I kicked, flailed, and drew myself through the water towards the top. I attempted to breathe in too soon and sucked in water and my chest convulsed in deep, unpleasant coughs to expel it. I treaded water frantically, trying to scare off whatever acquired touched me with my thrashing.
And Liz surfaced in front of me, a mere ft away. She pores, and skin was white, like porcelain, but she wasn’t pale. She was just… white, and her shoulder blades glittered in the sunlight like a mom of pearl. Her hair was blue and green and it shone like metal. She stared at me with liquid black eyes.