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I would face him, and say simply: I am sad that you are not strong, and do not swim and sail and ski, but you have a strong soul, and I will believe in you and make you invincible on this Earth.
Sylvia PlathWrote: I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one... by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.