"Most marriages recognize this paradox: Passion destroys passion; we want what puts an end to wanting what we want"
About this Quote
Fowles nails the cruel arithmetic of long-term desire: the moment you get the thing you ache for, the ache itself collapses. The line moves like a trap door. It starts in the domestic, almost clinical register of "most marriages", then snaps into philosophical cruelty: passion is self-sabotaging, not because lovers fail, but because wanting has a built-in expiration date.
What makes it work is the reflexive loop in the second clause. "We want what puts an end to wanting what we want" is a sentence that eats its own tail. Fowles isn't just describing a relationship problem; he's diagnosing a psychological engine. Desire thrives on distance, uncertainty, and the imaginative space between self and other. Marriage, at least as a social contract of access and routine, promises to close that distance. The subtext is bleak but precise: intimacy can become a kind of annexation. When the beloved is no longer partly unknown, the mind loses one of its favorite fuels - projection.
Context matters because Fowles is a writer obsessed with freedom, gamesmanship, and the stories people tell themselves to avoid the terror of choice. Across his work, love is rarely a stable destination; it's a test of autonomy, a stage where people negotiate possession versus permission. Here, he punctures the romantic myth that fulfillment is a permanent state. He suggests marriage is where modern culture tries to institutionalize an emotion that is, by nature, restless - and then acts surprised when the paperwork doesn't preserve the fire.
What makes it work is the reflexive loop in the second clause. "We want what puts an end to wanting what we want" is a sentence that eats its own tail. Fowles isn't just describing a relationship problem; he's diagnosing a psychological engine. Desire thrives on distance, uncertainty, and the imaginative space between self and other. Marriage, at least as a social contract of access and routine, promises to close that distance. The subtext is bleak but precise: intimacy can become a kind of annexation. When the beloved is no longer partly unknown, the mind loses one of its favorite fuels - projection.
Context matters because Fowles is a writer obsessed with freedom, gamesmanship, and the stories people tell themselves to avoid the terror of choice. Across his work, love is rarely a stable destination; it's a test of autonomy, a stage where people negotiate possession versus permission. Here, he punctures the romantic myth that fulfillment is a permanent state. He suggests marriage is where modern culture tries to institutionalize an emotion that is, by nature, restless - and then acts surprised when the paperwork doesn't preserve the fire.
Quote Details
| Topic | Marriage |
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