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

All pain is one malady with many names.

I am dying with the help of too many physicians.

To be sick is to enjoy monarchal prerogatives.

Because the newer methods of treatment are good, it does not follow that the old ones were bad: for if our honorable and worshipful ancestors had not recovered from their ailments, you and I would not be here today.

It is not a case we are treating; it is a living, palpitating, alas, too often suffering fellow creature.

Medication alone is not to be relied on. In one half the cases medicine is not needed, or is worse than useless. Obedience to spiritual and physical laws—hygiene of the body and hygiene of the spirit—is the surest warrant for health and happiness.

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.”

To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.

The doctor should be opaque to his patients and, like a mirror, should show them nothing but what is shown to him.

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.

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

You can’t find the soul with a scalpel.