"Marriage is the death of hope"
About this Quote
Woody Allen’s line lands like a cocktail-party murder weapon: light enough to toss off, sharp enough to draw blood. “Marriage is the death of hope” isn’t arguing a thesis so much as performing a persona - the romantic pessimist who wants intimacy but expects the invoice. The joke works because it treats “hope” as the oxygen of desire: the fantasy of what life could become, kept alive by uncertainty, chase, and projection. Marriage, in this view, isn’t love’s culmination; it’s love’s audit.
Allen’s specific intent is to puncture the cultural script that marriage equals happily-ever-after. He flips the moral valence: commitment doesn’t stabilize happiness, it embalms possibility. The subtext is older and more anxious than the punchline admits. It’s about control and exposure. Marriage turns private longing into shared logistics; it replaces erotic mystery with calendars, bills, and the humiliating continuity of being known. For an Allen-esque narrator, being known is less comforting than catastrophic: once you’re fully seen, what’s left to imagine?
Context matters: Allen’s work (especially his classic neurotic comedies) treats adulthood as a trap disguised as maturity. The line echoes a late-20th-century urban skepticism about institutions - divorce rates rising, therapy culture booming, traditional roles under renegotiation. It’s not just anti-marriage; it’s anti-illusion. That’s why it sticks: it compresses a whole cultural fear into six words - that settling down might mean settling for less, and that the person you marry might be the person who finally proves you right about yourself.
Allen’s specific intent is to puncture the cultural script that marriage equals happily-ever-after. He flips the moral valence: commitment doesn’t stabilize happiness, it embalms possibility. The subtext is older and more anxious than the punchline admits. It’s about control and exposure. Marriage turns private longing into shared logistics; it replaces erotic mystery with calendars, bills, and the humiliating continuity of being known. For an Allen-esque narrator, being known is less comforting than catastrophic: once you’re fully seen, what’s left to imagine?
Context matters: Allen’s work (especially his classic neurotic comedies) treats adulthood as a trap disguised as maturity. The line echoes a late-20th-century urban skepticism about institutions - divorce rates rising, therapy culture booming, traditional roles under renegotiation. It’s not just anti-marriage; it’s anti-illusion. That’s why it sticks: it compresses a whole cultural fear into six words - that settling down might mean settling for less, and that the person you marry might be the person who finally proves you right about yourself.
Quote Details
| Topic | Marriage |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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