Getting Married By George Bernard Shaw -

Shaw regained his posture, his eyes sparking with their usual mischievous fire. "I feel," he declared, "that I have just committed a very popular mistake. However, as mistakes go, I find the company to be of a much higher caliber than I deserve. Now, shall we go home? I have a preface to write, and I suspect marriage will provide me with at least five thousand words on why it is a disaster for everyone else."

Charlotte laughed, pulling him toward the carriage. "Only five thousand, George? You’re getting soft in your old age." Getting Married by George Bernard Shaw

The morning of his wedding, George Bernard Shaw did not look like a man about to enter the "monstrous engine" of matrimony. Instead, he looked like a man who had misplaced a very important pamphlet on Fabianism. Shaw regained his posture, his eyes sparking with

When it came time for the rings, Shaw fumbled. "A gold hoop," he muttered. "The smallest handcuff ever forged by man." Now, shall we go home

"I am merely contemplating the absurdity of the contract," Shaw retorted, his red beard bristling. "To promise to love, honor, and obey is a biological impossibility and a legal farce. One might as well promise to keep one’s hair the same color for fifty years." "And yet, here you are," she said.

He stood in the hallway of the West Strand Registry Office, tugging at his rough, woollen jacket. Beside him stood Charlotte Payne-Townshend, a woman of formidable intellect and even more formidable patience. She was dressed sensibly; George was dressed, as usual, like a hedge that had decided to take up socialist lecturing.

But as he slid the band onto Charlotte’s finger, his voice lost its theatrical edge. For a fleeting second, the satirist vanished. He looked at this "Green-Eyed Millionairess" who had nursed him back to health and challenged his every dogma, and he felt something dangerously close to the very sentiment he spent his career mocking.