Texts for wedding ceremony

Texts for wedding ceremony

Text 1 – André Noiret

The delicious moment marriage of two unifying hearts. Shared love for better and worse. Radiant hopes of a home that is woven, endless exchanges of sweet words, sighs, rings sealing an infinite happiness pure drop of dew that makes your ages bloom and your love ripens into a superb fruit. Two souls who shudder, this is marriage, loving each other hand in hand and triumphing through storms, finding each other at the end of the road, the road is long for this very beautiful journey.
Sing dance together be joyful that your hearts vibrate on the same harmony, fill the cup of the other and all happy, so savor this love that unites you.

Text 2 – Words of nothing – Jeanne Moreau

Love is expressed with words like that, everyday words, gray words, little words of nothing, words of nothing at all.
We say when we get out of bed: “Hello, the weather is nice, did you sleep well?” ”
These words so tender to tender echo, as a pure reflection in the water, saying nothing less than inhaled by you weave a thousand ties, saying less than nothing exchanged to us.
Love expresses itself with very warm words, small well-closed words, small words, small so small, that they only rhyme for me, that they only rhyme for you.

Text 3 Happiness is very small – Maurice Carême

Happiness is very small, so small that sometimes we don’t see it, so we look, we look everywhere. It is there, in the tree which sings in the wind, the bird cries it in the sky, the river whispers it, the stream whispers it, the sun, the raindrop say it.
You can see it there, in the eyes of the child, the bread that is broken and shared, the hand that is held out.
Happiness is very small, so small that sometimes we do not see it, and we look for it in concrete, steel, fortune, but happiness is not there, neither in ease nor in comfort.
We want to build it for ourselves but it is there, next to us, and we go by without seeing it, because happiness is very small.
He does not hide, that is his secret. He is there, near us.

Text 4 The Eternal Song – Rosemonde Gérard

When you are old and I am old, when my blond hair is white hair, in the month of May, in the sunny garden, we will go and warm up our old trembling limbs.
As the renewal will celebrate our hearts, we will still believe ourselves to be young lovers, and I will smile at you, shaking my head, and we will make a lovely couple of old people.
We will look at each other, seated under our trellis, with tender and shining little eyes, when you are old and I am old, when my blond hair is white hair.
On our friendly bench, all green with moss, on the bench of yesteryear we will come back to talk, we will have a tender and very sweet joy, the sentence always ending with a kiss.
How many times in the past have I been able to say: “I love you! Then with great care we will recount it: we will remember a thousand things, even exquisite little things that we will ramble on.
A ray will descend, with a gentle caress, among our white hair, all pink to settle down, when on our old bench all green with moss, on the bench of yesteryear, we will come back to talk.
And as every day I love you more, today more than yesterday and much less than tomorrow, what will the wrinkles of the face matter then?
My love will be more serious and serene.
Remember that every day memories pile up, my memories will also be yours: these common memories increasingly embrace us and constantly weave other links between us.
It’s true, we will be old, very old, weakening with age, but stronger every day I will shake your hand, because you see every day I love you more, today more than yesterday and much less that tomorrow.
And of this dear love which passes like a dream I want to keep everything in the bottom of my heart, to retain, if possible, the impression that is too brief to slowly re-enjoy it later.
I bury everything that comes from him like a miser, hoarding with ardor for my old age; I will be rich then with a rare wealth: I will have kept all the gold of my young loves!
So with this past of happiness which is coming to an end, my memory will sometimes give me back the sweetness; And of this dear love which passes like a dream I will have kept everything in the bottom of my heart.
When you are old and I am old, when my blond hair is white hair, in the month of May, in the sunny garden, we will go and warm up our old trembling limbs.
We will look at each other, seated under our trellis, with tender and shining little eyes, when you are old and I am old, when my blond hair is white hair.

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