One advantage of marriage is that, when you fall out of love with

The words of Judith Viorst—“One advantage of marriage is that, when you fall out of love with him or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you fall in again”—speak not of fleeting passion, but of the enduring covenant of love. These words remind us that love, like the sea, ebbs and flows. It is not constant fire, but a rhythm of seasons—some radiant with warmth, others cold with distance. In the old ways, people knew that the strength of union was not in the fever of affection, but in the binding promise that holds fast when the heart grows weary. For the ancient builders of love understood: storms pass, and what is rooted deeply will bloom again.

The advantage of marriage, as Viorst declares, lies not in perpetual bliss, but in its sacred endurance. When passion dims, when irritation replaces tenderness, when two souls drift apart like ships in fog, the vows remain as an anchor. They hold the vessel steady until the fog lifts and the stars reappear. For love is not a constant feeling—it is a continual choosing. And the marriage bond, whether sworn before gods or before law, gives lovers the space to find each other anew, to rediscover affection through patience and remembrance.

In the annals of time, we find the tale of Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt, a pair who endured storms of heart and duty. Their love did not burn always bright; it was tested by betrayal, by distance, by the crushing weight of public life. Yet, they did not abandon the union. They stood together in their shared mission, transforming pain into purpose, disillusion into partnership. In time, affection returned—not as youthful desire, but as profound respect, as a friendship tempered by the fires of endurance. Thus they proved that even when love falters, commitment can sustain it until love rekindles.

The ancients, too, knew this truth. In Greek myth, Odysseus and Penelope are the eternal example. He wandered for twenty years, tempted and tested, while she waited, weaving and unweaving her tapestry. Their love endured not because it was easy, but because their faith in one another’s return was steadfast. When at last they stood face to face again, older and wearier, the flame rekindled—not with the reckless fire of youth, but with the steady glow of souls that had survived the long night. Thus, in constancy lies resurrection.

There is deep wisdom in endurance, for the heart is fickle, and emotion alone cannot bear the weight of years. The advantage of staying—of remaining bound when one might flee—is that it allows the miracle of rediscovery. Many abandon love at the first sign of winter, not realizing that spring comes only to those who endure the cold. To stay, even when affection wanes, is to trust that the soil still hides the seed, waiting for light once more. This is not blind submission—it is faith in the cycle of love’s renewal.

Yet, let none mistake this for chains of misery. There are unions where cruelty poisons the bond, where to stay is to perish—and such bonds must be broken. But where respect remains, where kindness flickers faintly beneath the ashes, there lies hope. For love is not a fragile candle but a hearth that may be rekindled, again and again, by care, forgiveness, and time. Marriage, when honored rightly, is not a prison, but a crucible—it refines what passion alone cannot perfect.

So let this teaching be carried to the generations that follow: when your heart grows cold, do not despair. Stay long enough to remember why you began. Speak gently even when you do not feel warmth. Serve one another when affection sleeps, for service will awaken tenderness. Walk together even when silence reigns, for footsteps shared through shadow lead again to dawn.

And when love returns—as it surely will to those who endure—you will find it deeper, wiser, and more real than before. Thus is the advantage of the sacred bond: that it keeps us together long enough to fall in love once more.