I love to cook. I love to cook for myself and my husband and big groups. I find it very relaxing, and I love socializing around a dinner table.
Nobody until very recently would have thought that their husband was supposed to be their best friend, confidante, intellectual soul mate, co-parent, inspiration.
My husband's my soul mate. At the same time, RuPaul's my soul mate.
Vijay is my husband but he continues to be my best friend and soul mate.
Your soulmate doesn't just mean your husband or your boyfriend. I have friends in my life who I believe I was meant to meet and be a part of.
I'm not sure that finding a husband at university made me any less of a feminist or an academic. I still soaked up Susan Faludi; I still read Doris Lessing. But I did it at the same time I met someone who I felt was my soulmate.
An early-rising man is a good spouse but a bad husband.
My husband and I were married in May 2007 on a sprawling rent-a-ranch in the Texas Hill Country. On the drive from Houston, we'd stopped off for our marriage license in the former produce aisle of a Winn Dixie-turned-courthouse in San Marcos and from there drove off the grid.
My husband is stricken with dementia, and it's a trick of his condition that events and people from his past are more real to him than what happened five minutes ago.
I got to show off in front of my husband, who married me as I was stepping out of the business, so he had no idea that I could strut my stuff on the stage.
My husband was working as principal of an urban transformation high school - the kind of public charter school determined to do whatever it takes to give its mostly minority, low-income student body the education they need and deserve to be successful in life.
On Sunday night, my husband makes a five-course family dinner.
My grandmother got her law degree from Syracuse University in roughly 1911 and later co-founded with her husband an investment banking firm on Wall Street known as Lebenthal & Co.
Sometimes when I hear criticism of my husband, I want to come out of my seat and clock somebody. But you learn to take a deep breath.
I'm very fond of Tennessee Williams' plays, and when my husband and I went to New Orleans in the late 1970s, we saw 'A Street Car Named Desire.'
I resent that there is an image of perfection that is getting thinner and thinner. I've got a lovely husband and children, and I didn't lose weight to find those things.
Aung San Suu Kyi's late husband, Michael Aris, was a good friend of mine at St Antony's, Oxford. The gentlest of gentle academics, he helped establish a centre in Tibetan studies at Oxford and converted to Buddhism.
Whenever I can, I like to go to Cotswolds, in England, where my husband had a cottage. I spend my time reading his diaries, which I would like to publish.
My second husband believed I had such a fickle attitude to friendship that each Friday he would update the list of my 'Top Ten' friends in the manner of a Top Of The Pops chart countdown.
If I had a choice, I'd rather be admired less and have my husband tormented less. I'd prefer that people concentrate on a fair assessment of him and his Presidency.
