LOVE, the quest; marriage, the conquest; divorce, the inquest.
Most marriages, nowadays, seem built for speed rather than for endurance.
A divorcée is one who has graduated from the Correspondence School of Experience.
Marriage, according to the merry Widow-reno, is a "perfectly lovely experience to have had!"
Grass Widow: The angel whom a man loved, the human being he married, and the devil he divorced.
Most actresses are married—now and then; most literary women—off and on; most society women—from time to time.
In olden days, the lover cried, in burning words and brave,
"Oh darling, be my Queen, my Bride—and let me be your slave!"
But nowadays, he murmurs, over cigarette and tea,
"Say, when you get your next divorce, will you (puff) marry me?"
When a woman obtains her second divorce, one hardly knows whether to class her as a good loser, a bad chooser, or just a "poor sport."
Why is it that when a man hears that a woman has had a "past," he is always so anxious to brighten up her present?