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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.
(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!
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.]
We have to ask ourselves whether medicine is to remain a humanitarian and respected profession or a new but depersonalized read more
We have to ask ourselves whether medicine is to remain a humanitarian and respected profession or a new but depersonalized science in the service of prolonging life rather than diminishing human suffering.
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.
The rich Physician, honor'd Lawyers ride,
Whilst the poor Scholar foots it by their side.
[Lat., Dat read more
The rich Physician, honor'd Lawyers ride,
Whilst the poor Scholar foots it by their side.
[Lat., Dat Galenus opes, dat Justinianus honores,
Sed genus species cogitur ire pedes.]
We do not bear sweets; we are recruited by a bitter potion.
[Lat., Dulcia non ferimus; succo renovamus amaro.]
We do not bear sweets; we are recruited by a bitter potion.
[Lat., Dulcia non ferimus; succo renovamus amaro.]
'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
Are grown so catching.
'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
Are grown so catching.
