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.
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I firmly believe that if the whole materia medica could be sunk
to the bottom of the sea, it read more
I firmly believe that if the whole materia medica could be sunk
to the bottom of the sea, it would be all the better for mankind
and all the worse for the fishes.
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.
If we practiced medicine like we practice education, we'd look for the liver on the right side and left side read more
If we practiced medicine like we practice education, we'd look for the liver on the right side and left side in alternate years.
Who shall decide when doctors disagree,
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
Who shall decide when doctors disagree,
And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me?
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.
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.
Medicine, the only profession that labors incessantly to destroy the reason for its existence.
Medicine, the only profession that labors incessantly to destroy the reason for its 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!
The medicine increases the disease.
[Lat., Aegrescitque medendo.]
The medicine increases the disease.
[Lat., Aegrescitque medendo.]
