Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are

Oscar Wilde, master of wit and scourge of hypocrisy, once spoke with a voice both playful and piercing: “Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious; both are disappointed.” At first glance, these words seem to mock love itself, but behind the irony lies a keen observation of human longing and the frailty of expectation. Wilde’s genius was to dress truth in laughter, yet his laughter carried the weight of tragedy, for he saw how often the dreams of love dissolve in the harsh light of reality.

The meaning is not to condemn marriage, but to reveal the restless heart of humanity. Men, weary of wandering, of endless pursuit, of chasing fleeting pleasures, often seek in marriage a resting place. They are tired, not always with age, but with the weariness of desire itself, hoping that love will bring peace. Women, on the other hand, are drawn by the flame of mystery, the allure of discovery. They are curious, longing to explore the depth of intimacy, the secret promise hidden within a union. And yet, when the veil is lifted, both find that reality rarely matches the dream; and thus comes disappointment.

History itself offers echoes of this truth. Think of Napoleon Bonaparte and Josephine. He, exhausted from years of conquest, sought in Josephine a sanctuary from the battlefield. She, curious about the passion and power of the rising general, stepped into the fire of his love. Yet their marriage, though burning with moments of brilliance, faltered in betrayal and distance. Napoleon, tired of loneliness, and Josephine, curious about glory, both found their expectations unmet. Love was real, but the disappointment was real as well, for neither could match the other’s dream.

This observation also carries the wisdom of human limitation. The tired and the curious alike approach marriage often with illusions: that it will complete them, that it will fulfill every longing. Wilde’s sharp tongue exposes this folly. No mortal union can bear the weight of such infinite hope. To expect from another the perfection of rest or the endlessness of fascination is to walk toward disappointment. The truth is harsher but more liberating: marriage, like life, demands patience, humility, and the courage to see the other as they are, not as we imagined.

Yet within Wilde’s jest is also a hidden encouragement. If we know the traps—if we see how tiredness or curiosity alone may lead us astray—we may build marriages not on illusion, but on truth. Love that endures is not born from desperation nor from idle fascination, but from mutual respect, shared struggle, and the daily choice to remain faithful. When expectations fall, commitment rises; when the dream fades, the deeper bond begins.

O children of tomorrow, do not enter marriage from tiredness, seeking only rest, nor from mere curiosity, chasing novelty. Enter with open eyes, with reverence for the mystery of another soul, with readiness to be disappointed yet willing to transform disappointment into wisdom. In this way, the jest of Wilde becomes a shield, protecting you from the traps he described.

Therefore, the lesson is this: laughter may cloak truth, but truth remains. Do not despise Wilde’s irony, but learn from it. Do not expect marriage to end all weariness or satisfy all curiosity. Rather, let it be a journey of growth, where men and women alike move beyond the disappointments of illusion into the deeper beauty of companionship. For though Wilde spoke with a smile, his words still burn with wisdom: only those who see clearly can truly love.