(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!

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.

Constant attention by a good nurse may be just as important as a
major operation by a surgeon.

Constant attention by a good nurse may be just as important as a
major operation by a surgeon.

God who sends the wound sends the medicine.
[Sp., Dios que da la llaga, da la medicina.]

God who sends the wound sends the medicine.
[Sp., Dios que da la llaga, da la medicina.]

Adrian, the Emperor, exclaimed incessantly, when dying, "That the
crowd of physicians had killed him."

Adrian, the Emperor, exclaimed incessantly, when dying, "That the
crowd of physicians had killed him."

The only profession that labors incessantly to destroy the reason for its own existence.

The only profession that labors incessantly to destroy the reason for its own existence.

In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
read more

In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well.

Banished the doctor, and expell'd the friend.

Banished the doctor, and expell'd the friend.

I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where read more

I bought an unction of a mountebank,
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Where it draws blood so cataplasm so rare,
Collected from all simples that have virtue
Under the moon, can save the thing from death
That is but scratched withal. I'll touch my point
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
It may be death.