My vanity is I'm terribly romantic! But being married is lovely.

In the words of Matthew Macfadyen, “My vanity is I’m terribly romantic! But being married is lovely.” This confession holds within it both humility and grandeur. To claim romanticism as a vanity is to acknowledge the joy of feeling deeply, of treasuring love with fervor, of indulging in dreams and gestures that transcend the ordinary. Yet he does not stop there. For Macfadyen places alongside this self-confessed vanity the greater truth: that the lived reality of marriage—with all its quiet companionship and enduring steadiness—is not only a dream but a loveliness that surpasses even the imagination of the romantic heart.

The ancients knew this tension well. The poets of Greece and Rome praised the fire of romance, the rapturous beginning of love, the overwhelming force that could topple cities and stir gods to jealousy. Yet in the wisdom of philosophers and the customs of households, there was another voice—a reminder that true greatness was found not only in passion’s blaze but in the steady flame that warmed families, sustained communities, and endured through time. Macfadyen’s words reconcile these truths: that to be romantic is a noble vanity, but to be married is a lasting beauty.

Consider the story of Odysseus and Penelope. Their love was not marked by lavish banquets or endless serenades. For twenty years, their union was tested by war, temptation, and distance. Yet when Odysseus returned to Ithaca, it was not a fleeting romantic gesture that defined their bond, but the constancy of Penelope’s waiting, and the recognition of one another’s hearts after so many trials. Here we see the distinction: passion may stir the beginning, but steadfastness crowns the union. And yet, the romantic imagination—the longing, the hope, the faith—sustained Penelope in her vigil. Both were necessary, both were beautiful.

To call oneself “terribly romantic” is to admit to dreaming of great gestures: flowers at unexpected moments, whispered words beneath moonlight, the thrill of longing. These are not foolish, though the world may mock them, for they keep the heart tender and alive. Yet Macfadyen reminds us that beyond such gestures lies the deeper gift: the shared life of marriage, with its rhythms of conversation, its mutual care, its simple joys of waking together, of supporting one another through sorrow and delight. In this, romance matures into devotion, and vanity transforms into virtue.

The lesson is not to scorn the romantic, nor to worship it as the highest form of love. It is to see it as the blossoming of a flower whose true beauty lies in the fruit it later bears. For if one clings only to the blossom, it fades; but if one tends the plant with patience, it will yield nourishment for a lifetime. So too does marriage surpass the fleeting blaze of passion, not by denying romance, but by enfolding it into a larger story of companionship, sacrifice, and enduring joy.

History abounds with examples of those who found loveliness in marriage beyond the first blush of romance. Think of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, whose marriage began with devotion and endured with loyalty, shaping not only their personal lives but the culture of an age. Their love was marked by letters, by collaboration, by grief when one passed and the other mourned deeply. Their story reminds us that while romantic vanity enlivens the soul, the lived covenant of marriage gives that romance permanence.

Therefore, the wisdom for us is this: cherish your romantic heart. Indulge in its gestures, for they keep love alive and vibrant. But do not forget the loveliness of the enduring bond. Honor your partner not only with flowers and moonlight, but with patience, kindness, and steadfastness. For in the union of vanity and devotion, of romance and marriage, lies the fullness of love—the fire that ignites and the flame that endures.