Never would I tell you that you HAD to have a reading in your wedding, but if you want one, and if you want to find some really cool readings, then you could do worse than scrolling through a few of these beauties.
We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.
From the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson
Calvin: What’s it like to fall in love?
Hobbes: Well… say the object of your affection walks by. First, your heart falls into your stomach and splashes your innards. All the moisture makes you sweat profusely. This condensation shorts the circuits to your brain and you get all woozy. When your brain burns out altogether, your mouth disengages and you babble like a cretin until she leaves.
Calvin: THAT’S LOVE?!?
Hobbes: Medically speaking.
Calvin: Heck, that happened to me once, but I figured it was cooties!
Albert Einstein on girls
Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love. How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That’s relativity.
Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis De Bernieres
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.
The fierce Dinosaur was trapped inside his cage of ice. Although it was cold he was happy in there. It was, after all, his cage.
Then along came the Lovely Other Dinosaur.
The Lovely Other Dinosaur melted the Dinosaur’s cage with kind words and loving thoughts.
I like this Dinosaur thought the Lovely Other Dinosaur.
Although he is fierce he is also tender and he is funny.
He is also quite clever though I will not tell him this for now.
I like this Lovely Other Dinosaur, thought the Dinosaur. She is beautiful and she is different and she smells so nice.
She is also a free spirit which is a quality I much admire in a dinosaur.
But he can be so distant and so peculiar at times, thought the Lovely Other Dinosaur.
He is also overly fond of things.
Are all Dinosaurs so overly fond of things?
But her mind skips from here to there so quickly thought the Dinosaur. She is also uncommonly keen on shopping.
Are all Lovely Other Dinosaurs so uncommonly keen on shopping?
I will forgive his peculiarity and his concern for things, thought the Lovely Other Dinosaur. For they are part of what makes him a richly charactered individual.
I will forgive her skipping mind and her fondness for shopping, thought the Dinosaur. For she fills our life with beautiful thoughts and wonderful surprises. Besides, I am not unkeen on shopping either.
Now the Dinosaur and the Lovely Other Dinosaur are old.
Look at them.
Together they stand on the hill telling each other stories and feeling the warmth of the sun on their backs.
And that, my friends, is how it is with love.
Let us all be Dinosaurs and Lovely Other Dinosaurs together.
For the sun is warm.
And the world is a beautiful place
By Pablo Neruda
I love your feet because they have wandered over the earth and through the wind and water until they brought you to me.
This piece works best with two people reading the two parts of Rosie and Michael, it could be bride and groom, or it could be best man and maid of honour, or anyone really.
Rosie is my friend. She likes me when I’m dopey and not just when I’m smart. I worry a lot about pythons, and she understands. My toes point in and my shoulders droop, and there’s hair growing out of my ears. But Rosie says I look good. She is my friend.
Michael is my friend. He likes me when I’m grouchy and not just when I’m nice. I worry a lot about werewolves, and he understands. There’s freckles growing all over me, except on my eyeballs and teeth. But Michael says I look good. He is my friend.
When my parakeet died, I called Rosie. When my bike got swiped, I called Rosie. When I cut my head and the blood came gushing out, as soon as the blood stopped gushing, I called Rosie. She is my friend.
When my dog ran away, I called Michael. When my bike got swiped, I called Michael. When I broke my wrist and the bone was sticking out, as soon as they stuck it back in, I called Michael. He is my friend.
It wouldn’t matter if two billion people said she robbed a bank, if Rosie told me she didn’t, I’d believe her.
Even though his fingerprints were found all over the dagger, if Michael said, “I’m innocent,” I’d believe him.
If Rosie told me a secret and people hit me and bit me, I wouldn’t tell what Rosie’s secret was. And then if people twisted my arm and kicked me in the shins, I still wouldn’t tell what Rosie’s secret was. And then if people said, “Speak up, or we’ll throw you in this quicksand,” Rosie would forgive me for telling her secret.
If Michael told me a secret and people clonked me and bopped me, I wouldn’t tell what Michaels’ secret was. And then if people bent back my fingers and wrestled me to the ground, I still wouldn’t tell what Michael’s secret was. And then if people said, “Speak up, or we’ll feed you to these piranhas,” Michael would forgive me for telling his secret.
Just because I call her a gorilla face, doesn’t mean that Rosie’s not my friend.
Just because I call him a banana head, doesn’t mean that Michael’s not my friend.
Sometimes I get on the diving board and decide that I’ve changed my mind. But Rosie wouldn’t laugh. She is my friend.
Sometimes I’m climbing up a tree and decide that I’d rather climb down. But Michael wouldn’t laugh. He is my friend.
Rosie is my friend. When she honest and truly wanted to know if she walked like a kangaroo, I honestly told her.
Michael is my friend. When he honest and truly wanted to know if his feet were smelling stinky, I honestly told him.
Rosie would try to save me if there was a tidal wave. She’d hunt for me if kidnappers stole me away. And if I was never found again, she could have my Instamatic. She is my friend.
Michael would try to save me if a lion attacked. He’d catch me if I jumped from a burning house. And if by mistake he missed the catch, he could have my stamp collection. He is my friend.
I’d never get my tonsils out if Rosie didn’t too.
I’d never move to China without Michael.
I’d give her my last piece of chalk.
I’d give him my last Chiclet.
[TOGETHER] My friend.