Quotes about Wives

Many marriages would be better if the husband and the wife clearly understood that they are on the same side.

I tended to place my wife under a pedestal.

"Mr. Churchill, if you were my husband, I'd poison your tea!" "And if you were my wife, I would drink it!"

My wife and I tried to breakfast together, but we had to stop or our marriage would have been wrecked.

I like the story of the newlywed who served ham for her first Sunday dinner. The husband noticed the ends of the ham had been cut off and he asked why. "That's the way my mother always did it," the bride replied with a shrug. He asked his wife's mother the same question and got the same answer, "That's the way my mother did it." Finally he asked the grandma, who replied, "That's the only way I could get it into the pan."

FIRST MURDERER: WHERE IS THY CONSCIENCE NOW? SECOND MURDERER: In the Duke of Gloucester's purse FIRST MURDERER: So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. SECOND MURDERER: Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. FIRST MURDERER: How if it come to thee again? SECOND MURDERER: I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it checks him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: it is a blushing shamefast spirit that multiplies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold, that I found: it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. FIRST MURDERER: 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.

A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say "Wit, whither, wilt?"

Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed, with the furniture.

Marriage is a relationship based in no small part on virtues. The most basic of these is responsibility, for marriage is an arrangement held together by mutual dependence and reciprocal obligations. But successful marriages are about more than fulfilling the conditions of a contract. In good marriages, men and women seek to improve themselves for the sake of their loved one. They offer and draw moral strength by sharing compassion, courage, honesty, self-discipline and a host of other virtues. Husband and wives complete themselves through each other, and the whole of the union becomes stronger and more wonderful than the sum of the two parts.

Though marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves 'em still two fools.

The Dead-Beat He dropped, - more sullenly than wearily, Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat, And none of us could kick him to his feet; -Just blinked at my revolver, blearily; -Didn't appear to know a war was on, Or see the blasted trench at which he stared. 'I'll do 'em in,' he whined, 'if this hand's spared, I'll murder them, I will.' A low voice said, 'It's Blighty, p'raps, he sees; his pluck's all gone, Dreaming of all the valiant, that aren't dead: Bold uncles, smiling ministerially; Maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun In some new home, improved materially. It's not these stiffs have crazed him; nor the Hun.' We sent him down at last, out of the way. Unwounded; - stout lad, too, before that strafe. Malingering? Stretcher-bearers winked, 'Not half!' Next day I heard the Doc.'s well-whiskied laugh: 'That scum you sent last night soon died. Hooray!'

Allport, Gordon W., in his preface to Man's Search for Meaning: "WHY DO YOU NOT COMMIT SUICIDE?" Dr. Frankl asks his patients. . . . in one life there is love for one's children to tie to; in another life, a talent to be used; in a third, perhaps only lingering memories worth preserving. . . . As a long-time prisoner in bestial concentration camps he [Viktor Frankl] found himself stripped to naked existence. His father, mother, brother, and his wife died in camps or were sent to gas ovens, so that, excepting for his sister, his entire family perished in these camps. How could he - every possession lost, every value destroyed, suffering from hunger, cold and brutality, hourly expecting extermination - how could he find life worth preserving?

But my mind clung to my wife's image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look then was more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise.

. . . nothing could touch the strength of my love, and the thoughts of my beloved. Had I known then that my wife was dead, I think that I still would have given myself, undisturbed by that knowledge, to the contemplation of that image, and that my mental conversation with her would have been just as vivid and just as satisfying. "Set me like a seal upon thy heart, love is as strong as death."

Why go to a museum and look at paintings if you can paint your own painting. I mean, do things for yourself. I mean, do you have somebody come in a sleep with your wife for you? Do you pay somebody to eat your food for you? I mean, do things for yourself. That's what life's about. There's so many people doing things they hate, I mean you have people running the country who all they care about is keeping their jobs - not doing their jobs. There's so little real love in any of the work that I see.

Don't criticize your wife's judgment - look whom she married.

Many a man owes his success to his first wife, and his second wife to his success.

A man appeared before an audience in which his wife was seated and when he got through he went up to her and said. "How did I do? " And she said, "You did fine, only you missed several excellent opportunities to sit down."

He's got a client who shot his wife in the head six times. Six times, can you imagine it? I mean, even twice would be overdoing it, don't you think?

Never try to guess your wife's size. Just buy her anything marked "petite" and hold on to the receipt.

A psychiatrist is a fellow who asks you a lot of expensive questions your wife asks for nothing.

I finally realized that it wasn't Starfleet that I was trying to get away from. I was trying to escape the pain I felt, after my wife's death. I thought I could take the uniform, wrap it around the pain and toss them both away. But it doesn't work like that. Running may help for a little while, but sooner or later the pain catches up with you, and the only way to get rid of it is to stand your ground.

Wife to husband: The only explanation I have is that my money self-destructs.

In the western part of the United States the paper money is Federal Reserve Notes issued by the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco. The bills have an identifying L on them. One day a husband had a paper dollar in his hand and said to his wife: "This is a new one. It hasn't an L on it. It has an H. Where's it from?" "I don't know," replied his wife. "I don't read money. I only spend it." Money is money and is meant to be used. But we wonder how many apply that money attitude to life itself. How many just spend life; spend it without pausing occasionally to read its meaning?

My wife says I never listen to her. At least I think that's what she said.

The alert was screaming its warning against invading German planes. People were racing for the shelters. "Hurry up!" cried the housewife to her spouse. "I can't find my false teeth," called the befuddled and tardy husband. "False teeth!" returned the exasperated wife. "What do you think they are dropping? Sandwiches?"

We know what the animals do, what are the needs of the beaver, the bear, the salmon, and other creatures, because long ago men married them and acquired this knowledge from their animal wives.

When trade grew slack, and notes fell due, The merchant's face grew long and blue; His dreams were troubled through the night With sheriff bailiffs all in sight. At this his wife unto him said "Rise up at once, get out of bed, And get your paper, ink, and pen, And advertise to all good men." He did as his good wife advised, And in the papers advertised. Crowds came and bought of all he had; His notes were paid, his dreams were glad; And he will tell you to this day, How well did printer's ink repay.

A Hundred Years From Now Tell me friend, what will it matter, say a hundred years from now, if you owned a thousand acres or just one old broken plow; If you bought your suits in Paris and your shoes in Italy, Or your clothes were made in patches, like the bed quilts use to be? Whether you lived in a mansion with the finest broadlooms laid, If you had a private chauffeur, Butler, cook, a nurse and maid. Or you lived in a cottage with your health gone on the skids, out of work and out of money just your wife and seven kids. Sure, on earth there makes a difference what we've got and who we know, Whether we are poor and hungry, or we're rolling in the dough And if life down here was only all there was and that was it, then it sure would make a difference for all of us, I must admit. But there there's more to life than livin', more for those who will believe, more in store laid up in heaven if the Saviour we receive. Whether we are lost for ever or to Jesus here we bow, This is what will make a difference in a hundred years from now.

A man and his wife, each in a different small plane, were out enjoying a flight, when the husband committed a flight error. He was able to recover, but his wife who was following him, crashed and was killed. The husband was distraught, blaming himself for the accident. One day when pleading with the Lord for forgiveness, he heard a voice saying "Jesus died, even for dumb mistakes."