Came across this from Robert Burton concerning Unfortunate Marriage as a cause of melancholy: Amongst these passions and irksome accidents, unfortunate marriage may be ranked: a condition of life appointed by God Himself in Paradise, an honourable and happy estate, and as great a felicity as can befall in this world, if the parties can agree as they ought, and live as Seneca lived with his Paulina; but if they be unequally matched, or at discord, a greater misery cannot be expected, to have a scold, a slut, an harlot, a fool, a fury or a fiend, there can be no such plague.
Not sure how Seneca and his Paulina got along - though I'm guessing swimmingly given the context - but in exchanging cards with the Missus on this illustrious date in our personal calendars I found myself meditating on my great good fortune at being able to do so.
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