If you want to know how your girl will treat you after marriage

“If you want to know how your girl will treat you after marriage, just listen to her talking to her little brother.” So said Sam Levenson, the American humorist whose wit concealed profound understanding of the human heart. His words, though light in tone, carry the weight of timeless wisdom. They speak not merely of courtship and marriage, but of character, that unseen essence which reveals itself not in grand gestures, but in the smallest acts of daily kindness—or cruelty. Through this simple observation, Levenson reminds us that love is not learned in romance, but in the humble practice of compassion.

The quote’s humor disguises a deeper insight into the nature of relationships. When Levenson says to “listen to her talking to her little brother,” he points to the truest mirror of a person’s heart: how they treat those who cannot advance their ambition, flatter their pride, or match their power. In the tenderness—or impatience—with which one speaks to a child, we glimpse the soul’s true inclination. For a person may wear a thousand faces before the world—gentle with the lover, gracious with the powerful—but their instinct toward the vulnerable reveals who they truly are. Marriage, he implies, strips away performance and shows the heart laid bare.

This wisdom is ancient, for all great teachers have said the same in different tongues. In the sayings of Confucius, in the proverbs of Solomon, and in the parables of Christ, we find the same truth: that one’s virtue is measured by the care shown to those of lower station. Just as a woman’s manner toward her brother reveals her future tenderness toward her husband, so too does a man’s patience toward his mother or sister foretell his mercy toward his wife. The soul that knows how to nurture when it need not—that is the soul fit for love.

Let us recall the tale of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor of Rome. It was said that he could be as gentle with a servant as with a senator, and as patient with a child as with a general. He believed that true nobility was not found in birth or power, but in temperament—in the ability to govern oneself before seeking to govern others. His marriage to Faustina, though tested by rumor and distance, endured through mutual respect. Marcus judged not by appearances, but by conduct—the quiet dignity of daily kindness. Levenson’s advice to “listen” is of the same spirit: to look beyond beauty and charm, and discern the enduring heart that will guide a life shared in unity.

When a young person is in love, they are often dazzled by the brightness of affection. They see passion, laughter, and dreams, but not always the habits that lie beneath. Levenson’s words teach that those habits—how one speaks, how one listens, how one bears small frustrations—are the roots of all future joy or sorrow. For in marriage, the grand gestures fade, but the small ones repeat endlessly. If one speaks cruelly in jest, they may one day wound with the same tongue; if one shows tenderness without motive, they will carry that tenderness into every trial.

Levenson’s quote also invites humility. For as we observe others, so must we examine ourselves. How do we speak to those weaker than us—to children, to subordinates, to strangers who cannot repay our kindness? The pattern of our words reveals the shape of our souls. Love, if it is to endure, must be practiced daily, not in sentiment but in behavior. One cannot promise compassion to a spouse while denying it to the rest of the world. The heart does not change merely because vows are spoken; it only magnifies what was already there.

So, my listener, take this counsel to heart. When you seek a partner, do not be swayed by beauty or brilliance alone. Listen to their tone with others—their patience, their generosity, their laughter unguarded. For there lies the prophecy of your future peace. And when you yourself love, let your words always carry gentleness, even in the smallest exchanges. Speak as though every phrase were a seed, and you were sowing the field of your future home.

In this, Sam Levenson has given us more than wit—he has given us wisdom cloaked in humor. For though the world may judge love by grand romance, the wise know that its truest measure is found in the ordinary—at the breakfast table, in the quiet quarrel, in the tone of voice that greets the day. And if you wish to build a lasting bond, let your speech be kind, your patience long, and your heart soft toward the small and the weak. For how you treat them will one day define how you love the ones dearest to you. Such is the eternal lesson hidden in a simple jest—and the quiet truth of love itself.