Marriage Date Fixed Quotes

Fix your eyes on Jesus and the plans he has for your life. Look ahead, and run after him with all your heart. Then look around. Whoever has kept up with you, marry that person.

The realms of dating, marriage, and sex are all marketplaces, and we are the products. Some may bristle at the idea of people as products on a marketplace, but this is an incredibly prevalent dynamic. Consider the labor marketplace, where people are also the product. Just as in the labor marketplace, one party makes an offer to another, and based on the terms of this offer, the other person can choose to accept it or walk. What makes the dating market so interesting is that the products we are marketing, selling, buying, and exchanging are essentially our identities and lives. As with all marketplaces, every item in stock has a value, and that value is determined by its desirability. However, the desirability of a product isn’t a fixed thing—the desirability of umbrellas increases in areas where it is currently raining while the desirability of a specific drug may increase to a specific individual if it can cure an illness their child has, even if its wider desirability on the market has not changed. In the world of dating, the two types of desirability we care about most are: - Aggregate Desirability: What the average demand within an open marketplace would be for a relationship with a particular person. - Individual Desirability: What the desirability of a relationship with an individual is from the perspective of a specific other individual. Imagine you are at a fish market and deciding whether or not to buy a specific fish: - Aggregate desirability = The fish’s market price that day - Individual desirability = What you are willing to pay for the fish Aggregate desirability is something our society enthusiastically emphasizes, with concepts like “leagues.” Whether these are revealed through crude statements like, “that guy's an 8,” or more politically correct comments such as, “I believe she may be out of your league,” there is a tacit acknowledgment by society that every individual has an aggregate value on the public dating market, and that value can be judged at a glance. When what we have to trade on the dating market is often ourselves, that means that on average, we are going to end up in relationships with people with an aggregate value roughly equal to our own (i.e., individuals “within our league”). Statistically speaking, leagues are a real phenomenon that affects dating patterns. Using data from dating websites, the University of Michigan found that when you sort online daters by desirability, they seem to know “their place.” People on online dating sites almost never send a message to someone less desirable than them, and on average they reach out to prospects only 25% more desirable than themselves. The great thing about these markets is how often the average desirability of a person to others is wildly different than their desirability to you. This gives you the opportunity to play arbitrage with traits that other people don’t like, but you either like or don’t mind. For example, while society may prefer women who are not overweight, a specific individual within the marketplace may prefer obese women, or even more interestingly may have no preference. If a guy doesn’t care whether his partner is slim or obese, then he should specifically target obese women, as obesity lowers desirability on the open marketplace, but not from his perspective, giving him access to women who are of higher value to him than those he could secure within an open market.

Everyday you came to my house. You were a friend to my son. You made my daughter smile. You said your jokes and made me laugh. You sat at our table and ate our food. And always you were fixing things in the house. You helped us. We helped you. That's family. And then you just left. No explanation. No goodbye. Not even a phone call to let us know you weren't dead.

Unlike plumbing, carpentry, auto repair, etc., we cannot outsource all the work over to someone else. If we wish to see our relationships fixed, at some point we are going to have to get our hands dirty.

Jase and I made a deliberate decision while we were dating to remain sexually pure until we were married. Keeping that commitment was not easy, but we did it. We decided to trust God, and we were determined to honor His Word no matter how much of a struggle it was. The important thing is we made it! Two years, ten months, and two days, but who was counting? The first sexual experience either one of us ever had took place with each other on our wedding night. Jase often says it was more like an exploratory biological experiment! We have remained faithful to one another and our marriage vows since that day.

Rosie: Well we’re not exactly 20 years old are we? Ruby: No thank god for that because if that was the case I would have to go through a shit marriage and a divorce all over again. We would have to go out and look for jobs, be all uncertain about our lives, care about dating and how we look and what car we’re driving, what music we’re playing in it, what we wear, whether we’ll get into certain clubs or not bla bla bla bla. What’s so good about being 20? I call them the materialistic years. The years we get distracted by all the bullshit. Then we cop on when we hit our 30s and spend those years trying to make up for the 20s. But your 40s? Those years are for enjoying it. Rosie: Hmmm good point. What are the 50s for? Ruby: Fixing what you fucked up on in your 40s. Rosie: Great. Looking forward to it.

The traditional community of property in a marriage, i.e., the wife’s claim to support from her husband, should again be made conditional on her being a wife to him. She may run off with the milkman if she wishes—leaving her children behind, of course (a woman willing to do this is perhaps na unfit mother in any case); but she may not evict her husband from his own house and replace him with the milkman, nor continue to extract resources from the husband she has abandoned. Until sensible reforms are instituted, men must refuse to leave themselves prey to a criminal regime which forces them to subsidize their own cuckolding and the abduction of their children. The date rape issue can be solved overnight by restoring shotgun marriage—but with the shotgun at the woman’s back. The “victim” should be told to get into the kitchen and fix supper for her new lord and master. Not exactly a match made in heaven, but at least the baby will have both a father and a mother. Furthermore, after the birth of her child, the woman will have more important things to worry about than whether the act by which she conceived it accorded with some Women’s Studies professor’s newfangled notion of “true consent.” Motherhood has always been the best remedy for female narcissism.

Forget about trying to "fix" your spouse's flaws. Instead, focus your attention on aspects and characteristics that you enjoy most.

You think I'm hot?" She gave him a slow, sensual smile. His hand dropped to her hip and he tugged her skirt up. "So hot, I think I need to do you over the sink." When he looked at her that way, with heat and desire in his eyes, she couldn't deny him anything. "Did you lock the door?" "Of course." "Condoms?" Liam sniffed. "I knew you were going to be at the conference. Did you think I'd come unprepared to service your needs?" "We'll have eleven minutes for the good stuff. Three to clean up. Two to fix our clothes. Ten to get to our respective conference rooms. Does that work for you?" Liam spun her around and yanked up her skirt. "I love it when you schedule our sexy times. It turns me on." "That's good because I planned for this in advance and left the Avengers at home.

The hot tub girl was the one before the one with the legs, and after the one with the boobs," Dan snorted, weaving slightly on his feet. "And I think he had a couple of models in between from the modeling agency start-up that he was considering adding to his portfolio." "I told you we should have invested in that one," Marco said, making no effort to keep his voice down. "He was swimming in tits and ass." He looked over at Daisy. "Pardon my French." Daisy gave him a cold smile. "Quel salaud!" Liam didn't speak French, but from the look on Daisy's face he suspected what she'd said wasn't polite. "So who is she really?" Dan gave him a nudge, keeping his voice low. "I mean, come on, man. You and her?" "I'm his parole officer." Daisy grabbed Liam's arm and tugged him in the opposite direction. "He's on an escorted day pass. Move aside because I have to have him back in his cell by eleven P.M." Dan's eyes widened. "No shit? What did he do?" "He swam in the wrong hot tub." Daisy fixed Dan with a glare. "Next time, check their ID.

On one particular night, I was determined to get a half-decent night of sleep because I had a big meeting at work the next morning, where I was talking to the school board about the special education program at our school. It was a really, really important meeting, and I didn’t think I could get through it on an hour of sleep. I pumped Emma full of two bottles of milk, hoping she’d conk out, but knowing it was a crapshoot. I told Noah about the meeting and emphasized how important it was. I had to get a decent night of sleep. He swore he understood. So when Emma woke up screaming at two in the morning, I expected him to get up with her. “I’ve got a headache, Claire,” he mumbled into his pillow. “Can’t you get her?” I had a headache too. I had a headache almost all the time these days, as well as big purple circles under my eyes. Skipping out on my parental duties was never an option. “You know I have a big meeting tomorrow.” Noah squeezed his eyes shut. After a long minute of Emma’s cries increasing in volume, he got out of bed. And slammed the door shut behind him when he left the bedroom. Just as the cries subsided and I started to drift off again, the screams abruptly started again. A few seconds later, Noah came back into the bedroom. He flopped down on the bed and covered his head with the pillow. “I can’t deal with her,” he said. “You have to do it.” “But I told you, I have a meeting tomorrow!” “Well, I have a headache. I’m not getting up.” And that was it, as far as he was concerned. He acted like Emma was my baby, he was doing me a favor by trying to help, but if he didn’t want to do it, he didn’t have to. I remember staring at him in the dark bedroom, waiting to see if he would change his mind. He didn’t budge. I had to get up and spend the rest of the night comforting Emma. He never apologized for that one. Even though I was a wreck at my meeting the next day, and he ended up sleeping in after I dropped Emma and Aidan off at daycare. It was so incredibly unfair. After that, it seemed like we were at war more and more frequently. He never carried his weight when it came to the children and the housework, and what’s worse, he didn’t care. He told me all I did was nag him. We stopped doing things together as a family—I preferred to go out with the kids myself so I didn’t have to watch him play with his phone instead of talking to me. And we never did anything together as a couple. I can’t remember our last date night. For a while, we were making an effort to get a babysitter and go out, but I can’t remember the last time either of us even suggested it. I kept telling myself things would get better as the kids got older. But now they’re older. And it turned out, our marriage got too broken to fix.

Treat marriage like a diamond necklace; if broken, fix it, but do not throw it away.

But when we choose to pursue purity and postpone intimacy, Jesus’s sacrifice looks costly, like our most expensive and prized possession. When we do not push boundaries, we announce the priceless weight of every one of his wounds. When we keep our clothes on and our hands from wandering, we celebrate the immeasurable mercy he carried on a back destroyed with lashes. When we wait in dating, we declare again that he really is risen from the dead and reigning in heaven. Our sexual purity will either make the cross look real and valuable, or it won’t. With our eyes happily fixed on Jesus, the once-for-all sacrifice for our sins, he will increasingly be honored in our bodies, whether in singleness or marriage.

Protection in committed relationships is different from protection in dating. The battle cry is no longer “to the rescue” or “I'll fix this for you.” The key now is maintenance, empowerment, assistance, and friendship

What I’m hearing from you right now,” he continues, “is that throughout your life, you’ve been looking outside of yourself—to your parents, to your kids, to Stewart, to Karl—for the validation and love you crave. But, Molly, you can’t receive anyone else’s love until you love yourself.” I sit up straighter, the pain in my head starting to diminish. I feel the truth in his words. “Nobody else—not your mother, not your children, not your husband, not your lovers—will ever be able to fix this. Only you have the power to repair this hole.” As I leave Mitchell’s office, I feel a new clarity in my vision. The migraine is gone, yes, but it’s more, too. I need to take another break from dating. I need to date myself. Without giving details, I text Stewart to tell him how much better I feel. Yay! he writes. Thank God for Mitchell! Then I text Karl. Hi there. Can you and I make some time to talk?