You can’t find the soul with a scalpel.

I am dying with the help of too many physicians.

When the physician said to him, “You have lived to be an old man,” he said, “That is because I never employed you as my physician.”

Health indeed is a precious thing, to recover and preserve which we undergo any misery, drink bitter potions, freely give our goods—restore a man to his health, his purse lies open to thee.

Let me recommend the best medicine in the world: a long journey, at a mild season, through a pleasant country, in easy stages.

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them.

In the name of Hippocrates doctors have invented the most exquisite form of torture ever known to man: survival.

Well now, there’s a remedy for everything except death.

He is the best physician who is the most ingenious inspirer of hope.

A miracle drug is any drug that will do what the label says it will do.

The poets did well to conjoin music and medicine, because the office of medicine is but to tune the curious harp of man’s body.

Doctors don’t know everything really. They understand matter, not spirit. And you and I live in spirit.

I have yet, I believe, some years in store, for I have a good state of health and a happy mind, and I take care of both by nourishing the first with temperance and the latter with abundance. This, I believe, you will allow to be the true philosophy of life.