
You don't really need to get married, but marriage is awfully
You don't really need to get married, but marriage is awfully nice. Everybody I know who got married, they say it really makes a difference. They feel very, very happy about it.






Hear the gentle yet profound words of Lily Tomlin, spoken with both wisdom and tenderness: “You don't really need to get married, but marriage is awfully nice. Everybody I know who got married, they say it really makes a difference. They feel very, very happy about it.” In these words, she offers no command, no decree, but a reflection—a recognition that marriage is not necessity, yet it carries a sweetness that cannot be denied. It is the difference between surviving and flourishing, between walking alone and walking with a companion whose hand steadies your steps.
The meaning of her words rests in balance. On the one hand, she admits that marriage is not required—a person may live fully without it, find joy in friendships, passions, and work, and never be less human for its absence. On the other hand, she acknowledges that marriage holds a unique charm: it transforms life in subtle but powerful ways, anchoring the soul in partnership, turning “I” into “we,” and weaving together two lives into one. It is not demanded by survival, but it enriches existence.
The origin of such wisdom lies in the modern understanding of love. In earlier centuries, marriage was often a matter of duty, property, alliance, or necessity. Women and men entered into it not for joy, but because society decreed it was required. Yet Tomlin speaks from another era, one in which marriage is no longer enforced but chosen. And it is precisely because it is no longer necessary that its beauty shines more brightly. When one marries not from compulsion but from love, the joy that follows is deeper, purer, more radiant.
History shows us the truth of this. Consider the story of Eleanor Roosevelt and Franklin D. Roosevelt. Their marriage was not without difficulty, yet it bound two lives in such a way that both found strength within it. Eleanor, who could have been diminished by the weight of her husband’s power, instead grew into one of the greatest voices for justice and human rights, supported by the bond that marriage provided. Their story reveals that marriage, even imperfect, can create a framework where two souls grow stronger together than they might alone.
Tomlin’s words also reflect humility. She does not claim that marriage is magical for all, nor does she deny its challenges. She speaks instead of the testimony of those around her, those who “feel very, very happy about it.” In this humility is wisdom: she does not elevate marriage as the only path to joy, but she honors it as a vessel that often carries people toward deeper happiness. She recognizes that the testimony of lived experience matters more than dogma or abstract ideals.
The lesson here is clear: do not treat marriage as an obligation, nor dismiss it as trivial. See it for what it is: a gift, not required for life, but able to transform life into something more luminous. If you choose it, let it be because love calls you, not because tradition demands it. If you do not, know that your life can still be full and rich, but that you may miss the particular joy that comes when two souls vow to walk together through the trials and triumphs of time.
So, children of tomorrow, take these words as guidance. Do not rush into marriage, nor scorn it. Seek first the truth of your heart, and if love comes that is steadfast, faithful, and true, do not fear the bond. For though you do not need marriage to live, you may find that in it life becomes more radiant, more anchored, more complete. And in the laughter and tears shared under its shelter, you may discover the quiet truth Lily Tomlin spoke: that it does indeed “make a difference,” one measured not in necessity, but in joy.
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