I never married because there was no need. I have three pets at

“I never married because there was no need. I have three pets at home which answer the same purpose as a husband. I have a dog which growls every morning, a parrot which swears all afternoon, and a cat that comes home late at night.” So said Marie Corelli, with wit upon her lips and defiance in her heart. Beneath her jest lies not only humor but the declaration of a woman unbound by expectation, one who sought freedom from the chains of convention and found in companionship of creatures what others claimed must be sought in matrimony.

The ancients too knew the power of humor as truth disguised in jest. For often the tongue, speaking in laughter, dares say what society forbids in solemnity. Corelli’s words are not merely mockery of the husband, but a lampoon of the roles assigned to him: the grumbling provider, the harsh speaker, the wanderer who returns too late. By likening these traits to her dog, her parrot, and her cat, she unmasks the absurdity of needing a man to fulfill these duties, when life itself provides their parody in other forms.

Her dog growling each morning is the echo of domestic discord, the harsh word at dawn, the quarrel that greets the day. Her parrot, cursing through the afternoon, is the mirror of complaints and tempers that fill the hours of toil. Her cat, slipping home at night, embodies the absent partner, faithful not to the hearth but to his wandering desires. Thus in her menagerie she found all the companionship she needed, without the bonds of duty or the weight of compromise.

Consider the story of Hypatia of Alexandria, the philosopher who chose knowledge over wedlock. She remained unmarried, not because she despised love, but because she revered freedom and wisdom above all else. Like Corelli, she lived in defiance of expectation, and her very life declared: a woman’s worth is not measured by her husband, but by her spirit. Though their paths were different—Hypatia in the academy, Corelli with pen in hand—their message resounds the same: one may live fully without bowing to the demands of convention.

Yet in her wit, Corelli offers not only satire but empowerment. For too long, women were told that to be without a husband was to be incomplete, to lack protection, meaning, or joy. Her words shatter that illusion. She shows that companionship can be found in many forms, that laughter can guard the heart as surely as solemn vows, and that freedom is often sweeter than security. In her humor lies courage, for to speak thus in her time was to challenge the pillars of society.

The lesson for us is this: do not let others dictate the shape of your happiness. Whether in marriage, in solitude, or in friendship, your life is yours to fashion. If love finds you, welcome it with honor. But if it does not, or if it comes in unexpected forms—a dog, a parrot, a cat—cherish them without shame. Happiness is not a mold to be filled, but a light to be kindled within.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, let this be your practice: laugh at the chains the world would place upon you. Question every “must,” for often it hides only tradition, not truth. Surround yourself with companions, whether human or beast, who bring you joy and peace. And remember Marie Corelli’s wisdom: it is better to live freely with humor in your heart than to bind yourself for fear of being alone. For solitude with joy is richer than marriage with sorrow.

So hear this teaching: freedom, wit, and choice are treasures beyond price. Live not for appearances, but for truth. And whether you share your days with a partner, with friends, or with the faithful love of animals, let it be your choice, made in laughter, wisdom, and strength.