Whatever you may look like, marry a man your own age - as your

“Whatever you may look like, marry a man your own age — as your beauty fades, so will his eyesight.” — Phyllis Diller

Thus spoke Phyllis Diller, the jester-queen of wit and wisdom, whose laughter masked a deeper understanding of life’s ironies. Beneath her humor lies a truth sharp as a blade yet wrapped in jest — that the bond between man and woman should rest not upon the fragile soil of youth and beauty, but upon companionship and equality. For beauty fades, as all things in time must, but understanding, laughter, and shared memory — these are the eternal roots that hold two souls together when the glow of the flesh has dimmed.

In her own way, Diller — a woman who broke barriers in comedy when the stage belonged almost entirely to men — used humor as her sword and truth as her shield. When she spoke of fading beauty and fading eyesight, she was not mocking love, but defending it from the illusions that destroy it. She had lived long enough to know that marriage built only on appearance is a house made of mist; it cannot weather the storms of age. Her jest conceals a profound lesson: choose not with the eyes, but with the heart, for the eyes grow dim, but the heart remembers forever.

This wisdom is not new. Even the ancients knew the folly of worshiping beauty. The Greek philosophers warned that the senses deceive, and that love founded upon the surface soon withers. In myth, Helen of Troy was famed as the most beautiful of women — yet her beauty brought ruin to kingdoms, and her lovers’ passion turned swiftly to destruction. But consider Penelope, who grew old while waiting for Odysseus. Her beauty may have faded, yet her faith and her mind endured, and when her husband returned, it was not her youth that moved him, but her constancy. Thus, even in legend, the wise know that the truest beauty is that of the spirit.

Phyllis Diller’s jest also strikes at the vanity of age and the blindness of desire. In her time, as in ours, the world glorified youth, especially in women — demanding that they remain forever young, while excusing the years that lined a man’s face as “character.” Her humor exposes this double standard. By saying, “marry a man your own age,” she turns the world’s logic upside down. She reminds women that there is dignity in growing old together — that when time dulls the sparkle of the eyes, love should become gentler, wiser, and funnier. The fading eyesight of age becomes, in her words, a blessing: when vanity dies, tenderness is born.

There is an ancient sweetness in this idea — that love matures as we do. Like a fine wine, it gains depth through the years. Two who age together share not only the passing of time, but the quiet miracle of survival. Consider Pierre and Marie Curie, who labored side by side in their humble laboratory, their love bound not by appearance but by purpose. Through hardship and discovery, through exhaustion and joy, their devotion endured — for it was built on shared passion and respect. Had beauty alone bound them, their union would have faded long before their light. But because they loved with both mind and heart, their bond became immortal.

Phyllis Diller’s humor thus conceals a philosophy of grace — a lesson in how to live with joy and humility as time claims the body but not the soul. Her laughter is the laughter of one who knows that life’s only true response to decay is to laugh and love louder. When she speaks of fading beauty and dimming sight, she is really reminding us that love must evolve — from desire to devotion, from admiration to affection, from romance to reverence. To grow old together is not a tragedy but a triumph: it means the heart has remained faithful through every change.

Practical counsel for the seeker:

• Seek a partner who makes you laugh — for laughter endures longer than beauty.

• Remember that youth is a season, but friendship is a lifetime.

• Do not fear the changes of the body; let love ripen as the spirit deepens.

• When the mirror shows new lines, smile — for each wrinkle is a verse in the poem of your shared years.

For as Phyllis Diller teaches, time will take the color from the cheek and the sparkle from the eye, but it cannot take the light from the heart. Beauty fades — yes — but love that grows in wisdom, humor, and shared humanity outlasts even the years themselves. When two souls age together with laughter and grace, even blindness becomes a kind of vision — for they no longer need to see to recognize the one they love.