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“Like everything which is not the involuntary result of fleeting emotion but the creation of time and will, any marriage, happy or unhappy, is infinitely more interesting than any romance, however passionate.”

– W H Auden

We often come across articles in magazines which suggest that marriage, like religion, may one day die out. As amusing as these speculative pieces are, I can’t see their predictions coming true – our species has invested too much in the romance of marriage and, it must be said, even the most feckless turn to it out of sheer boredom or vanity.

But as for the commitment – well, having been married more than once (I’ll leave it at that), I can at least say that marriage is like a Tolstoy novel. Yes, there are those pages in which nothing much happens and the landscape appears barren; at least, to the impatient eye. But a plot is a plot and whatever advances it – or does not – is worth keeping an eye on. The point is the story.

I used to wonder how one could marry and live with the same person day in, day out, and not get bored (I was much younger). Now, each day, I wake up with the sense that I will never have enough time with this person with whom I share my life. There will never be enough dull or romantic or mundane or unexpected moments; never enough arguments or moments of private amusement; never enough time together. And this is very interesting indeed.

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