Best 4897 quotes in «marriage quotes» category

She had assumed they would see each other every day but she hadn’t really thought about the implications of having an affair with a married man. It wasn’t going to be a normal relationship.

She had gambled with marriage, just like most people, but she had gambled unluckily and had lost.

She is afraid of divorce, which will free her, as she was not enough afraid of marriage, which trapped her.

She hoped that her baby was happy and would be waiting for her when she herself left Botswana and went to heaven. Would Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni get round to naming a wedding date before then? She hoped so, although he certainly seemed to be taking his time. Perhaps they could get married in heaven, if he left it too late. That would certainly be cheaper.

She is herself a dowry.

She knew what he offered. He would kill her first, with the gun or the knife or his fists if he had to, and make certain she was never trapped in that cage again. From another man this might be terrifying, that he would so blithely consider murdering his companion. But she understood that from Hatcher this was tantamount to an offer of marriage. This was what he could do for her, how he showed he cared.

She looked a sight. No wonder he had mistaken her for a little country nobody, no make-up, and her old brown coat. Nothing in the world, she suddenly realized, could be quite so brown or quite so old as an old brown coat and to complete the picture, nothing could make a second-hand station wagon look less imposing than a flat tire and two dusty bags of dog food sitting up in the rear of it, like lumpy old ladies. But no matter what he thought, she'd be a fool to take one insult after another without doing something about it. If she didn't, his attitude was enough to give her an inferiority complex for the rest of her life. David would not know what had happened but he would miss some indefinable voltage that had been part of her in time their marriage would become a bloodless union which he would cease to cherish with jealousy and pride. It might sound a little far-fetched in theory, but in actual practice she knew that it was true.

She marched to the door and said, "if I ever marry, Patrick O'Sullivan, I shall make sure that my mate for life is a decent woman, or even, maybe, a book.

She meant that they'd never used words like "separation" and "divorce" even in their worst screaming matches. They yelled things like, "You're infuriating!" "You don't think!" "You are the most annoying woman in the history of annoying women!" "I hate you!" "I hate you more!" and they always, always used the word "always," even though Clementine's mother had said you should never use that word in an argument with your spouse, as in, for example, "You always forget to refill the water jug!" (But Sam did always forget. It was accurate.)

She never married,' Pellicorne says. 'A waste.' For some of us, Nella thinks, it's a waste to be married.

She picked up the book from the bedside. A stray quotation from Peter should always be sought first in John Donne. She found it there, quite quickly. Methinks I lied all winter when I swore My love was infinite, if spring makes it more.

She maintained that ideas like completing each other and growing old together were just sweet pills that were deceitfully thrust down our throats.

She said she wanted my best line tomorrow after the show, and now I knew what it was going to be.

She pulled away and walked to my bedroom and closed herself in with a little click of the knob. I could have pursued her. A paper clip could best the catch, but when a woman shuts you out, picking the lock won’t let you back in.

She said yes! She could have bargained for more.

She realized it wasn't about the wedding; it was about the marriage. Her. Him. Together. She got married barefoot because all she cared about was him. That guy. And the throw-up shoes weren't going to stop that from happening.

She said yes. If only she didn't talk so much!

She saw the scarlet thread of her lips, the light in her eyes, the family through their love, their children running barefoot in a fresh field.

She's as dead as she'll every be, ain't she? Well, ain't she?

She shrugged, looking as baffled by it as he felt. "I don't know. I wonder sometimes if people even know what love is anymore. Some days, when I'm watching my friends change lovers as unperturbedly as they change shoes, I think the world just got filled with too many people, and all our technological advances made things so easy that it cheapened our most basic, essential value somehow," she told him. "It's like spouses are commodities nowadays: disposable, constantly getting tossed back out for trade on the market and everyone's trying to trade up, up--like there is a 'trading up' in love." She rolled her eyes. "No way. That's not for me. I'm having one husband. I'm getting married once. When you know going in that you're staying for life, it makes you think harder about it, go slower, choose really well.

She says affection is all very well being imagined, like a romantic fancy, but marriage should be based on practical purposes in order to last longer.

She stood above the sink and broke the Swarovski glass frame – a wedding gift – with her hands. Her thumb got cut. As blood drops fell into the sink, like mercury balls she thought, she lit the photo on fire. Ashes fell into the sink. Fire and vermilion. Ashes and blood. Her marriage from start to finish.

She’s not happy in her marriage. Not unhappy exactly, but not happy. He doesn’t want kids, so that’s nothing to look forward to. Her life is chock-full of quiet tedium. Suddenly, she falls in love. And sure, there’s the excitement of being with her lover, but there’s also the excitement of not being with him. Of waiting and going on with her ordinary life. And all that dullness now becomes part of the drama. Because that’s her cover story. All the dreary anguish and monotony that fills ninety-eight percent of her life is electrified with meaning, since it now serves as the perfect camouflage to hide the two percent of passion. And, yes, she felt guilt and, yes, she felt shame. But those are powerful emotions too, and were all part of the glorious transformation of a featureless bland life into an adventure.

She suggested we 'crouch' buck nekkid on the bed or a dresser and leap out at him from the shadows. Now, my husband can't see all that well in the dark. I think if he comes into a darkened bedroom and finds 140 pounds of cellulite hurtling through space at him, he's going to run like the devil.

She thought that people sought marriage because it meant they could put aside the mascara, the bravado, the good clothes, the company manners, and be themselves, whatever that was, not try so hard. But what that seemed to mean was that they didn't try at all.

She [the wife of godly character] brings him [her husband] good, not harm, all the days of her life (Proverbs 31:12). Wait a minute! My mind raced. All the days of her life? What was that supposed to mean? I had yet to meet any woman who had been married all the days of her life. Did this verse mean that she tried to do her husband good…even before she met him?

She thought of ... the way he never made made her feel crazy, even when she was acting crazy, and never made her feel like a failure, even when she was failing.

She thought too that women didn't know what to do with themselves these days which could turn them into harridans. Hardly a female friend she knew wasn't miserable. Either mind dumb with children, or in the married condition married to an earnest toiler, or lonely unmarried in their successful career.

She took comfort in the familiarity of his smell, knowing that if she lost all her possessions and her home, at least she would have her family.

She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her?

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.

She was blissfully unaware of her peril.

She was married, true; but if one's husband was always sailing round Cape Horn, was it marriage? If one liked him, was it marriage? If one liked other people, was it marriage? And finally, if one still wished, more than anything in the whole world, to write poetry, was it marriage? She had her doubts.

She was the curator of her marriage, collector of swift quotes and unremarked-upon sensations.

She was still not at ease with the idea that she was now important enough to have people as accessories. Nor was she comfortable with the idea of these people as gatekeepers with access to the details of their personal lives. Whenever she felt herself shrinking under the indifferent glare of the staff that surrounded her, as she did in this instance, she straightened her back and lifted her chin in the way that Chiedza, her trusted advisor-friend, had instructed her to do.

she was wishing that whatever stage of her life she ws in now could be got through quickly, for it was seeming to her interminable. If life had to be looked at in terms of high moments or peaks, then nothing had "happened" to her for a long time; and she could look forward to nothing but a dwindling away from full household activities and getting old.

she was wishing that whatever stage of her life she was in now could be got through quickly, for it was seeing to her interminable. If life had to be looked at in terms of high moments. or peaks, then nothing had "happened" to her for a long time; snd she could look forward to nothing much but a dwindling away from full household activity into getting old

She wondered how she would feel to be a married woman. It would be the end of her life, she decided, if life was a time of choices.

She wondered whether all marriages started out this way. Whether this initial stress and adjustment, push and pull and tremors and shakes were common to all relationships. Maybe the fact that they had started off as a long-distance couple had shielded them from the pressures that normal couples in the same city went through. She wondered why all those relatives who had sat on her head asking her to get married had never mentioned this particular phase.

She would also be creating her own bridal bouquet. She wanted to feel the fragility and softness of each petal. And to make the single flowers stronger than they’d been separately. Just as she was stronger now, together with people who loved and accepted her.

Should I tell her of the moments of joy, the intense pleasure of holding the hand of the one you love and wishing that time would stand still?

Shouting is obvious; not talking to each other slips by.

Showing your vagina or penis is easy, but showing your soul is not.

Should I get married? Should I be good?

Shouldn't we at least be asking whether the transcending of venereal desire that marriage requires of a mostly or entirely 'heterosexual' man who marries for the sake of love, friendship, and raising a family isn't more or less the same as the transcendence required of a man whose venereal desire is 'oriented' mostly or entirely toward men but who restrains these drives, and who marries for the sake of love, friendship and raising a family? Of course, men with little venereal desire for women can't proceed towards marriage driven by such desire. For them, marriage must develop from friendship. But wouldn't it be better if all marriages developed from friendship?

Siamo un vero casino, io e te» disse lei, dall’altra stanza. «Ah, sì? Perché?» «I nostri padri ci hanno rovinato. Il tuo ti dà ancora ordini dalla tomba, il mio non mi permette di fidarmi di nessun uomo che entra nella mia vita.

Show your love by giving your spouse incredible admiration and encouragement.

Silence is, usually, another form of communication but without all the feeling or impression produced on the ear by a set of vibrations that propagate through an elastic medium such as air. But essentially, it's the same form of communication, just branded with a different name.

siguió evocando hasta el amanecer las excelencias del marido, sin reprocharle otra deslealtad que la de haberse muerto sin ella, y redimida por la certidumbre de que nunca había sido tan suyo como lo era entonces, dentro de un cajón clavado con doce clavos de tres pulgadas, y a dos metros debajo de la tierra. —Soy feliz —dijo— porque sólo ahora sé con seguridad dónde está cuando no está en la casa.

Silent as a flower, her face fell in dismay, aware that the ghost of lust ate and left, sensing that there was a different scent of perfume consuming the room, and that she had numbered and counted the he loves me, he loves me not of each petal, where the lifeless dust had settle.