Women love romance, but they're not as romantic as men.

In the words of George Hamilton, there lies a paradox that stirs reflection: “Women love romance, but they’re not as romantic as men.” At first, it seems to challenge what is often assumed—that women are the keepers of romance, that they are the ones who dream of flowers, candlelight, and whispered vows. Yet Hamilton’s words reveal another truth: that while women may delight in receiving gestures of romance, it is often men who, with reckless abandon, pursue and perform those acts with a kind of extravagant zeal, risking ridicule and rejection in the name of passion.

The ancients themselves knew this duality. In the tales of Greece and Rome, it was men who scaled walls, fought duels, and composed endless verses, all for the sake of a single glance from the beloved. Paris, son of Troy, did not merely admire Helen; he carried her away, and through this rash romantic act, launched a thousand ships and brought nations to ruin. Women, though they cherished love, were often cast as the recipients of such fiery displays, grounded in prudence, while men were consumed by the fever of romantic action.

What Hamilton suggests, then, is that men, driven by impulse and passion, often live out romance in bolder, sometimes reckless ways, while women, though they love romance, carry within them a steadier, more cautious heart. This is not to say that women lack passion, but that their expression of it is tempered, practical, woven with an awareness of consequence. Men, in contrast, can be intoxicated by the very idea of love itself, chasing visions and creating dramas that may be more romantic than real.

History is filled with such examples. Think of Petrarch, who spent his life writing poems to Laura, a woman he could not have, elevating her into a figure of divine beauty. His love was less about her reality than about his romantic vision of her. Contrast this with Laura herself, who, as history records, lived a quiet, devout life, far less entangled in the grandiose imaginings of her admirer. Thus we see Hamilton’s truth: women may cherish romance, but men often become its most extravagant authors.

Yet there is another layer here, one of balance. If women were only cautious and men only reckless, love would be chaos. But the harmony of the two creates stability. The romantic passion of men stirs the heart to dream, to act, to adorn the beloved with flowers, poetry, and daring gestures. The love of women grounds that passion, testing it, shaping it, ensuring that it becomes not just spectacle, but substance. Together, the steady and the reckless make of love not a fleeting fire, but a lasting flame.

The deeper meaning of Hamilton’s words is not division, but complementarity. To recognize that men and women may express romance differently is not to lessen either, but to honor the different ways love takes form. Romance is not only in the act of giving roses, nor only in the act of cherishing them, but in the dance between pursuit and response, passion and prudence, fire and vessel.

The lesson is clear: do not mistake difference for deficiency. Men may often seem more dramatic in their romantic gestures, while women may seem less so, but both are essential. For love is not merely passion or caution—it is both together, interwoven. Let men learn to temper their fire with patience, and let women embrace at times the boldness of reckless love. In this union of approaches, love becomes not only beautiful but enduring.

Therefore, O listener, let Hamilton’s words remind you: cherish the ways you love, and cherish the ways others love differently. Do not demand that love look only one way. Recognize that in every union, one heart may burn like a torch while the other glows like an ember. And together, those flames light the path of humanity, carrying forward the eternal story of romance.