Husbands are like fires - they go out when they're left

“Husbands are like fires — they go out when they’re left unattended.” These words of Cher, the singer, actress, and cultural icon, may appear playful and light-hearted, but they hold within them the deep and timeless wisdom of human relationships. Beneath the humor lies a truth as old as love itself: that affection, like flame, requires care, presence, and tending. When neglected, it does not vanish in anger, but fades in silence — not extinguished by malice, but by forgetfulness. Cher’s wit, wrapped in laughter, speaks to the serious art of love’s endurance — the truth that warmth survives only through attention.

In calling husbands like fires, Cher draws on a symbol revered through the ages. Since ancient times, fire has represented passion, vitality, and life itself — the sacred hearth of the home, the eternal flame of devotion. Yet every fire, no matter how bright, depends on the hand that tends it. The flame does not rage on its own; it needs breath, it needs fuel, it needs care. Likewise, a husband — and, by extension, any partner in love — must not be taken for granted. The heart grows cold when affection is assumed rather than renewed. Love is not a relic to be kept; it is a living fire, fragile and fierce, demanding both warmth and watchfulness.

The ancients knew this truth well. In the old Greek temples, priestesses guarded the sacred fires of Hestia, goddess of the hearth. If the flame ever went out, it was not seen as an accident, but as a sign of neglect — a warning that the spirit of the household had been forgotten. In the same way, Cher’s metaphor reminds us that relationships fail not from one great betrayal, but from small abandonments: the unspoken word, the unshared glance, the day when gratitude is replaced by indifference. The fire dies not because it is unloved, but because it is unseen.

Consider the story of Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt. Their marriage, marked by both greatness and difficulty, endured through war, illness, and political storms. Yet their partnership was not born of constant passion, but of mutual tending — each recognizing the other’s purpose and supporting it, even when affection flickered low. Eleanor once said, “You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” That included forgiving, understanding, and continuing to nourish what was left of the flame. Though their marriage was imperfect, it endured because they refused to let neglect become the final word. In their story, we see Cher’s truth in a grander form: that love, when kept alive by devotion and effort, can still warm even the coldest rooms of life.

Cher’s wit also contains a warning to both men and women — that no bond thrives without reciprocity. The fire of love cannot be left entirely to one partner’s care. Just as the flame gives light and warmth to both, so must both feed it with understanding, attention, and kindness. Too often, couples mistake routine for security and silence for peace. But in love, stagnation is the slowest form of dying. To “attend” to one another means more than presence of body; it is the presence of spirit — to see, to listen, to cherish even when familiarity tempts one to forget.

Cher’s remark may have been forged in jest, but its truth cuts deeply because it is universal. The fire that once blazes in youth — filled with laughter, passion, and discovery — will always dim with time if left untended. But those who continue to tend their flame — who fan it with gratitude, with humor, with care — discover something greater than passion: they discover endurance, the quiet, steady warmth that outlasts storms and seasons. The art of love is not to keep the fire wild, but to keep it alive.

So, my children, remember the wisdom hidden in the laughter of Cher. Love is not a spark that lasts by chance; it is a craft, a daily act of tending. Attend to your beloved as you would to a sacred flame — not with fear, but with reverence. Feed it with small kindnesses, shield it from the winds of pride, and rekindle it with laughter when life grows cold. For when you care for love as fire, it will not consume you — it will sustain you, lighting the long road of your shared days, until the final embers glow softly in peace.