I love marriage. I failed at marriage, but I'd rather go into

Hear the voice of Kirstie Alley, who once declared with the spirit of both fire and humility: “I love marriage. I failed at marriage, but I’d rather go into anything with gusto and fail than go into it half-assed.” Her words burn with the wisdom of the passionate soul — one who has known both triumph and defeat, and who chooses wholeheartedness over safety. In this simple confession lies the creed of the brave: to live life not by fear of failure, but by devotion to the fullness of experience.

This saying is not about the institution of marriage alone. It is about commitment, courage, and the refusal to live timidly. To love marriage, even after failing at it, is to love the act of trying, of giving oneself completely to what is uncertain. For in the ancient tongue of wisdom, to fail nobly is better than to succeed without soul. The one who lives half-heartedly dies daily; the one who risks all in love, in art, in faith — that one truly lives, even in loss.

In the old stories, we find a reflection of this spirit in Alexander the Great. When his generals hesitated before the crossing of the river Hydaspes, fearing the storms and the strength of their enemy, he leapt first into the water and cried, “Follow me!” He did not wait for assurance or for safety. He believed that the glory of life belongs to those who enter the current with gusto, not those who linger at its edge calculating the odds. Though his victories did not last forever, his name endures because his passion was complete. So too did Kirstie Alley live by that same principle: that it is better to love boldly and lose than to shrink behind the armor of caution.

When she speaks of failure, she speaks without shame. For she knew that failure is the true teacher of the soul. It is not the opposite of success but its foundation. To fail with courage is to plant the seed of wisdom; to succeed without risk is to harvest emptiness. In the eyes of eternity, it is not perfection that is honored, but sincerity. Those who dare — who love deeply, work fiercely, and dream recklessly — are the ones who move the world forward. The ancients said: “The gods favor the bold.” Not because boldness guarantees victory, but because boldness honors life.

To go into something half-assed, as she warns against, is to betray the very gift of existence. It is to offer the world only fragments of oneself. The river of time flows swiftly, and each day given is one that will not return. Therefore, the wise do not withhold their strength or their passion, but pour it out — into love, into creation, into struggle. For even the broken vessel shines brighter than the one left unused upon the shelf. Commitment, even when it ends in ruin, is the truest act of faith in life.

Consider the poet Sylvia Plath, who poured her entire being into her art. Her life burned brief but brilliant, and her words still stir the hearts of generations. She did not live safely; she lived intensely. Like Kirstie Alley, she understood that art — like love, like marriage — demands everything. One cannot touch greatness with guarded hands. The flame that creates also consumes. Yet what remains afterward is light.

Let the lesson, then, be passed down as sacred counsel: Live fully. Fail bravely. Love without reservation. Do not measure your worth by the outcome of your endeavors, but by the depth of your commitment to them. When you begin something — whether it is a marriage, a dream, or a purpose — give it all that you are. Do not fear the wounds that may come, for wounds are proof that you have lived. It is far better to stumble with a whole heart than to walk upright with a hollow one.

So go forth, children of the future, with gusto in your spirit. Pour your laughter into the world, your labor into your calling, your tenderness into those you cherish. And when life’s storms break you, let them not harden you, but remind you that only those who dared to care completely were ever alive at all.