I am dying with the help of too many physicians.

No families take so little medicine as those of doctors, except those of apothecaries.

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.”

Keep away from physicians. It is all probing and guessing and pretending with them. They leave it to nature to cure in her own time, but they take the credit. As well as very fat fees.

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

If a patient is poor, he is committed to a public hospital as “psychotic”; if he can afford the luxury of a private sanitarium, he is put there with the diagnosis of “neurasthenia”; if he is wealthy enough to be isolated in his own home under constant watch of nurses and physicians, he is simply an indisposed “eccentric.”

All pain is one malady with many names.

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.

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

You can’t find the soul with a scalpel.

The best physician is he who can distinguish the possible from the impossible.

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.

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