American married life is the doormat to the whorehouse.

The American girl makes a servant of her husband and then finds him contemptible for being a servant.

I've yet to be on a campus where most women weren't worrying about some aspect of combining marriage, children, and a career. I've yet to find one where many men were worrying about the same thing.

The nineteenth-century wave of feminism was started by older women who had been through the radicalizing experience of getting married and becoming the legal chattel of their husbands (or the equally radicalizing experience of not getting married and being treated as spinsters).

Marriage is like life in this-that it is a field of battle, and not a bed of roses.

Marriage is one long conversation, checkered by disputes.

Long-married couples balance their checkbooks as a substitute for love-making, or they refuse each other love by protesting one another's financial error or excess.

There isn't a wife in the world who has not taken the exact measure of her husband, weighed him and settled him in her own mind, and knows him as well as if she had ordered him after designs and specifications of her own.

How marriage ruins a man. It's as demoralizing as cigarettes, and far more expensive.

In married life three is company and two is none.