I remember back in the early '70s, when I had a disastrous Grand Prix, my wife, Lynn, said to me, 'Don't worry, you're going to be a late boomer.' That's what she said to me, and I've always held that thought.
Giving married women an independent legal existence did not destroy heterosexual marriage. And allowing husbands and wives to construct their marriages around reciprocal duties and negotiated roles - where a wife can choose to be the main breadwinner and a husband can stay home with the children - was an immense boon to many couples.
My wife Gwenaelle prepares an 'energy shot' for me for breakfast. It's a mix of linseed, cereal, and raisins, with fresh fruit like kiwi. She also adds yogurt for added texture and some pollen and honey for an energy booster.
My most annoying habit is complaining about my aches and pains. It's the new ones that I haven't identified yet that make me nervous. According to my wife, I complain way too much. I may be a borderline hypochondriac, or you could say I am fascinated by the body - at least by mine.
He that displays too often his wife and his wallet is in danger of having both of them borrowed.
In my house I'm the boss, my wife is just the decision maker.
I was desperate for new material, so anything I can write a joke about that works is in the act. No matter who it offends, or who it bothers - doesn't matter if its something my wife hates.
A sweetheart is a bottle of wine, a wife is a wine bottle.
What is the price of experience? Do men buy it for a song? Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price of all the man hath, his house, his wife, his children.
My wife is a writer. She grew up in Alaska. She told me she was moving to Boulder and that I could come with her if I wanted to. We were married at the time, so I chose to come with her.
If you have fear, you are bound by tradition, you follow some leader or guru. When you are bound by tradition, when you are afraid of your husband or your wife, you lose your dignity as an individual human being.
When a man has been consistently battering his wife, he shouldn't expect a bouquet of roses from her the morning after he promises to stop.
When it gets to the part in life where you're more afraid of what your wife is going to do to you than if you box, say, Mike Tyson, you've got to get a new profession. You don't get to be a family. I know why boxers never quit, some of them. They don't have wives.
My marriage is on the rocks again, yeah, my wife just broke up with her boyfriend.
I was silver-white by the time I was 35, but having grey hair makes me look washed out. My wife and son have both said that grey hair doesn't suit me because I have a boyish face.
I never laugh or smile when I am writing. When I come home for lunch after writing all morning, my wife says I look like I just came home from a funeral. This is not bragging. This is an illness.
My wife and I tried two or three times in the last 40 years to have breakfast together, but it was so disagreeable we had to stop.
I like to eat Wheaties Fuel for breakfast with fresh fruit and egg whites. For lunch, I like to eat my wife's 'homerun chicken,' which is chicken, rice and vegetables, and for dinner I eat grilled steak or a couple of chicken breasts with rice and vegetables. During the day, I drink OhYeah! protein shakes as a snack.
I'm never without my dog. They would be in every corner of the house, and my wife will not allow me to have any more than that. But I have lots of dogs. I love the dogs. I breed them. I always have a puppy coming. And I show dogs. I show German shepherds.
If ever a man and his wife, or a man and his mistress, who pass nights as well as days together, absolutely lay aside all good breeding, their intimacy will soon degenerate into a coarse familiarity, infallibly productive of contempt or disgust.
