Choose a wife rather by your ear than your eye.

“Choose a wife rather by your ear than your eye.” Thus spoke Thomas Fuller, the wise English divine of the seventeenth century, whose words were simple yet steeped in eternal truth. In this age-old saying, Fuller reminds us that love and companionship should not be founded upon appearance, but upon character—that true harmony between two souls is heard in the music of words, not seen in the glamour of sight. The ear, he tells us, is the gateway to understanding, while the eye is easily deceived by the fleeting shimmer of beauty. For beauty fades, but the spirit behind the voice endures.

Fuller, who lived in an age of poets and preachers, knew well the power of both word and illusion. In his time, as in ours, men often mistook charm for virtue and grace of form for grace of heart. Yet he, being both scholar and clergyman, had witnessed the downfall of many who chose with their eyes alone—those who sought a fair face and found a restless soul. His counsel, therefore, was not a jest, but a moral warning: seek not the one who dazzles your sight, but the one who speaks peace to your heart.

To “choose by the ear” is to listen—not merely to the tone of voice, but to the words that reveal the soul. It means to weigh the gentleness, wisdom, and kindness that flow from the lips, for these are the sounds of a spirit in harmony with truth. The eye perceives what time can destroy, but the ear hears what eternity remembers. The ancients believed that speech is the reflection of the heart, and that from the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. Thus, to listen well is to perceive the unseen; to choose by the ear is to marry not the body, but the soul.

Consider the story of Socrates, the philosopher of Athens, whose outward form was mocked by his peers for its plainness. Yet within him shone a brilliance that conquered centuries. When asked why he chose Xanthippe, a woman known for her fiery temper, Socrates replied that even the spirited horse trains the rider. Beneath her sharp words, he found challenge, dialogue, and truth—the very elements that refined his wisdom. His choice was not of beauty, but of voice—the voice that tested, provoked, and strengthened him. Though turbulent, their union bore the fruit of philosophy that still guides mankind.

Fuller’s wisdom also warns against the illusion of first impressions. Many are captivated by the eye’s quick judgment—by beauty, wealth, or charm—and only later discover that what gleamed in the light of attraction cannot endure the dimness of daily life. The voice that soothes, however, the word that comforts, the counsel that steadies—these are treasures no time can tarnish. He who marries the voice of understanding weds peace, while he who marries the image of beauty weds vanity.

And yet, this teaching does not despise beauty, but places it in its rightful order. The outer form is but the vessel; the voice, the spirit that fills it. The truly wise seek both harmony and depth. When the ear and the eye agree—when the face reflects the soul and the speech reveals grace—then love becomes both noble and enduring. But to choose by sight alone is to build a house upon sand; to choose by sound of soul is to anchor one’s life upon rock.

So, my children of the heart, remember this counsel: listen before you look. Hear how one speaks in anger and in tenderness, how truth and compassion dwell upon their tongue. Let your ear be the judge of sincerity, for deceit cannot long sustain a melody of goodness. Seek not the fleeting flame that dazzles the eyes, but the quiet fire that warms through the years. For a fair face may fade with the seasons, but a gentle voice, faithful and wise, will echo through all your days.

In the end, Thomas Fuller’s wisdom is not only about marriage—it is about all the choices of life. In friendship, in partnership, in every bond we form, let the ear guide the eye. Look not only at what pleases you, but listen for what strengthens you. For the ear, unlike the eye, perceives the unseen harmony between hearts, and through it we learn the greatest secret of love: that beauty seen is fleeting, but beauty spoken—and lived—is eternal.