wearing my socks to bed, it just seems like such an act of cowardice
i do it because i'm cold at night; but i keep the socks i wore all day- i feel that the gesture is loathsome and profoundly inelegant yet fright keeps me from sleeping barefoot.
the atrophied toes of a biped covered in that shameful cloth soaked in perspiration no matter how much you try your socks are never perfectly clean.
real men don't wear garments of this sort they don't hide from biting cold they embrace it their achievements aren't hampered by cumbersome limbs or habits
how can one rise above diverse small imperfections-like my aversion towards cold feet, or my poor eyesight, or my slightly curved spine or bad skin or crooked teeth
these are not great handicaps the kind of which would make a man strong if he overcame them, these are drawbacks that stop you from absolute fulfillment
spun toate astea în engleză pentru că în felul ăsta e ca şi cum nu le-aş spune, ca şi cum ar fi o glumă sau ceva mai puţin important, dar nu e aşa
