The Wedding (n.) is such a dark saying that he who understands half of it might lose his wits: to talk of duty to lovers, of the curse on the race, woman's pain and man's sweat — and yet to be in love!
A Wedding (n.) is an oath binding both, so it needs both to understand; without that it is nonsense — wed ten times over, he would still not be wedded to her, though she would be to him.
A Wedding (n.) is the one situation the reflective lover forgot to reflect upon — and it is a little more than a ceremony.
A Wedding (n.) is for the old maid, who still remembers her friend's dress better than the bride does, a bit of poetic woof in a humdrum life.
A Wedding (n.) is where the most mysterious thing, love's impulse, must become the most definite, duty, and the least future-minded thing must make a promise.
A Wedding (n.) might well have a custom by which the couple, before the house of feasting, visit the house of mourning, to fetch not the veil but the resolution.