"I don't think I'll get married again. I'll just find a woman I don't like and give her a house"
About this Quote
Marriage shows up here not as romance but as a real-estate transaction with better PR. Lewis Grizzard’s line lands because it takes the oldest bitter-divorce punchline - “it’s cheaper to keep her” - and strips it down to its blunt economic logic: if the endgame is paying for peace, skip the ceremony and go straight to the deed. The joke is engineered like a reverse proposal. Instead of “I love you, let’s build a life,” it’s “I’m tired, let’s settle the damages up front.”
Grizzard’s intent is comic self-defense. He’s not arguing a coherent philosophy of relationships; he’s staging a preemptive retreat from vulnerability. The laugh comes from the audacity of admitting the ugliest suspicion people carry into commitment: that love can curdle into obligation, and obligation can become a bill. By naming the taboo - disliking the person you’re legally bound to - he turns private anxiety into a public punchline, which is what a newspaper humorist does when he’s earned an audience’s trust.
The subtext is also gendered and era-specific. The “give her a house” premise assumes a male breadwinner with assets to lose, and a woman framed as the recipient of a settlement rather than an equal agent. In late-20th-century Southern-inflected humor, that posture reads less like manifesto than like a practiced persona: the wounded guy who uses cynicism as charm. The line works because it’s ruthless, efficient, and uncomfortably plausible - a laugh that carries a faint clink of keys.
Grizzard’s intent is comic self-defense. He’s not arguing a coherent philosophy of relationships; he’s staging a preemptive retreat from vulnerability. The laugh comes from the audacity of admitting the ugliest suspicion people carry into commitment: that love can curdle into obligation, and obligation can become a bill. By naming the taboo - disliking the person you’re legally bound to - he turns private anxiety into a public punchline, which is what a newspaper humorist does when he’s earned an audience’s trust.
The subtext is also gendered and era-specific. The “give her a house” premise assumes a male breadwinner with assets to lose, and a woman framed as the recipient of a settlement rather than an equal agent. In late-20th-century Southern-inflected humor, that posture reads less like manifesto than like a practiced persona: the wounded guy who uses cynicism as charm. The line works because it’s ruthless, efficient, and uncomfortably plausible - a laugh that carries a faint clink of keys.
Quote Details
| Topic | Witty One-Liners |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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