Because all the sick do not recover, therefore medicine is not an
art.
[Lat., Aegri quia non omnes read more

Because all the sick do not recover, therefore medicine is not an
art.
[Lat., Aegri quia non omnes convalescunt, idcirco ars nulla
medicina est.]

(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with read more

(Macbeth:) How does your patient, doctor?
(Doctor:) Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies
That keep her from her rest.
(Macbeth:) Cure her of that!
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory of a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
(Doctor:) Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.
(Macbeth:) Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it!

For of the most High cometh healing.

For of the most High cometh healing.

Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to read more

Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them
And show the heavens more just.

There is no medicine to cure hatred

There is no medicine to cure hatred

A sound mind in a sound body is a thing to be prayed for.
[Lat., Orandum est, ut sit read more

A sound mind in a sound body is a thing to be prayed for.
[Lat., Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.]

Water, air, and cleanness are the chief articles in my pharmacy.

Water, air, and cleanness are the chief articles in my pharmacy.

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with read more

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuffed, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.

Learn'd he was in medic'nal lore,
For by his side a pouch he wore,
Replete with strange read more

Learn'd he was in medic'nal lore,
For by his side a pouch he wore,
Replete with strange hermetic powder
That wounds nine miles point-blank would solder.