Trust not the physician;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays
More than you rob.

Trust not the physician;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays
More than you rob.

You rub the sore
When you should bring the plaster!

You rub the sore
When you should bring the plaster!

America's health care system is neither healthy, caring, nor a system.

America's health care system is neither healthy, caring, nor a system.

But nothing is more estimable than a physician who, having
studied nature from his youth, knows the properties of read more

But nothing is more estimable than a physician who, having
studied nature from his youth, knows the properties of the human
body, the diseases which assail it, the remedies which will
benefit it, exercises his art with caution, and pays equal
attention to the rich and the poor.
- Voltaire (Francois Marie Arouet Voltaire),

You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
read more

You behold in me
Only a travelling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
To cure incurable diseases,
Or those that are called so.

(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!

One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of
fellowship with other human beings read more

One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of
fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among
them.

You tell your doctor, that y' are ill
And what does he, but write a bill,
Of read more

You tell your doctor, that y' are ill
And what does he, but write a bill,
Of which you need not read one letter,
The worse the scrawl, the dose the better.
For if you knew but what you take,
Though you recover, he must break.

"Is there no hope?" the sick man said,
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his read more

"Is there no hope?" the sick man said,
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.