Love is blind; compatibility is utilitarian; marriage is nothing more than a self-deceptive gamble.

If you choose the one you love, reality will pierce the illusion sooner or later; if you choose the one who is suitable, desire will inevitably bite back. Marriage itself is a false proposition.
You either pick up bones in the ruins of hormones, or lick blood from the cracks of a calculator—either way, it's a dead end.
Romantics will ultimately drown in the trivialities of daily life, while realists will always be trapped in midnight reminiscence. No matter which you choose, you're digging your own grave.