The miserable hath no other medicine but only hope

The miserable hath no other medicine but only hope

(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!

This is the way that physicians mend or end us,
Secundum artem: but although we sneer
In read more

This is the way that physicians mend or end us,
Secundum artem: but although we sneer
In health--when ill, we call them to attend us,
Without the least propensity to jeer.

Desperate maladies require desperate remedies.

Desperate maladies require desperate remedies.

'Tis not amiss, ere ye're giv'n o'er,
To try one desp'rate med'cine more;
For where your case read more

'Tis not amiss, ere ye're giv'n o'er,
To try one desp'rate med'cine more;
For where your case can be no worse,
The desp'rat'st is the wisest course.

He (Tiberius) was wont to mock at the arts of physicians, and at
those who, after thirty years of read more

He (Tiberius) was wont to mock at the arts of physicians, and at
those who, after thirty years of age, needed counsel as to what
was good or bad for their bodies.

Banished the doctor, and expell'd the friend.

Banished the doctor, and expell'd the friend.

It requires a great deal of faith for a man to be cured by his own placebos.

It requires a great deal of faith for a man to be cured by his own placebos.

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.