How many desolate creatures on the earth have learnt the simple dues of fellowship and social comfort in a hospital.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

The physician should look upon the patient as a besieged city and try to rescue him with every means that art and science place at his command.

All pain is one malady with many names.

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 the young know they will never find a more interesting, more instructive book than the patient himself.

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.