Marriage is not a noun; it's a verb. It isn't something you get.

In the luminous and enduring words of Barbara De Angelis, we hear a truth that transcends centuries and cultures: “Marriage is not a noun; it’s a verb. It isn’t something you get. It’s something you do. It’s the way you love your partner every day.” Within this wisdom lies the heart of all enduring unions—the understanding that marriage is not a possession, but a practice; not a state of being, but a continual act of giving, choosing, and creating. Too many see marriage as a treasure once won, a trophy to display, or a shelter from life’s storms. Yet De Angelis reminds us that it is none of these alone—it is labor, devotion, and daily renewal. It is not the gold ring that binds two souls, but the invisible actions repeated through time: the kindness spoken when tempers flare, the patience extended when hope wanes, the forgiveness offered before it is asked.

The origin of this quote lies in De Angelis’s lifelong work as a teacher of love and relationships. Living in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries—a time when marriages were increasingly tested by speed, distraction, and disconnection—she sought to reawaken people to the sacred discipline of love. To her, love was not a fleeting emotion but a practice of the soul, requiring intention, mindfulness, and humility. When she declared that marriage is a verb, she was reviving an ancient wisdom lost amid modern ease: that love is not something one falls into, but something one builds—stone upon stone, moment upon moment. She spoke as a healer to a generation that had forgotten that relationships, like gardens, must be tended daily, or they wither in the neglect of assumption.

The ancients understood this truth well, though they spoke of it in different forms. The philosophers of old—Aristotle, Confucius, and the poets of the East and West—taught that virtue is not a possession, but an action, a way of being in the world. So it is with love. To love another is not to rest in comfort, but to strive together toward goodness. The Greeks called this agape, the highest form of love—not passion or desire alone, but an enduring choice to seek the flourishing of another. De Angelis, echoing this lineage, reminds us that marriage is a living discipline, like truth or wisdom. It must be practiced, else it perishes. For as a sword dulls without sharpening, so does love fade without renewal.

Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-king of Rome, and his wife, Faustina. History records that theirs was not an easy marriage; there were rumors, distance, and the endless pressures of empire. Yet Aurelius, in his Meditations, wrote often of gratitude for her steadfastness, of the small moments that stitched their lives together. He did not speak of his marriage as an achievement, but as a practice—a continual effort to act with justice, gentleness, and patience. He saw in his wife not perfection, but partnership, and through that partnership he learned humility. His example teaches us, as De Angelis does, that to love is not to possess, but to persevere; not to claim, but to contribute.

Marriage, in this understanding, is not a static institution but a living covenant. It breathes through every shared meal, every long silence, every laugh, every tear. It is not an altar to be worshiped, but a journey to be walked hand in hand. Too often, men and women enter into it as if it were the final chapter of a story, when in truth, it is the prologue—the beginning of a long and sacred apprenticeship in love. De Angelis’s words awaken us to this sacred work: the daily choosing of kindness over pride, the quiet tending of affection, the courage to speak truth with gentleness. These are the verbs of marriage, the invisible acts that give it strength and beauty.

There is a hidden power in her insight, for it calls us to responsibility. To say “I do” is not to seal a fate, but to commit to a way of being. Love must be made and remade, as a potter shapes clay again and again until it holds both water and light. Each day asks the question: What will you do today to honor this bond? The answer is not found in grand gestures, but in the simple acts of presence and care—the look of understanding, the word of comfort, the choice to forgive. In these daily actions, the verb of love becomes a living rhythm, and the marriage, a work of art.

The lesson, then, is clear and eternal: do not treat love as a possession—treat it as a practice. For all that is living must be tended. The tree bears fruit not because it was planted once, but because it was watered each morning. The same is true of the human heart. Let every couple remember that to love well is not to rest in comfort, but to labor in joy. And when the years grow heavy and the fires of youth burn low, let them find strength in the quiet knowing that they have not merely had a marriage—they have lived one.

So let these words of Barbara De Angelis stand as a teaching for all who seek lasting love: that marriage is a verb, a daily act of grace and devotion. It is not what you receive, but what you give; not what you possess, but what you build. In choosing, each day, to act in love, you become both the author and the guardian of a bond that time cannot break. For love that is lived, and not merely spoken, becomes not only the union of two souls—but the echo of eternity itself.