He who dies of epidemic disease is a martyr.

If they prescribe a lot of remedies for some sickness or other, it means that the sickness is incurable.

In times of pestilence, gaiety and joyousness are most profitable.

How sickness enlarges the dimension of a man’s self to himself! He is his own exclusive object.

Death from the bubonic plague is rated, with crucifixion, among the nastiest human experiences of all.

Disease makes men more physical, it leaves them nothing but body.

I reckon being ill as one of the great pleasures of life, provided one is not too ill and is not obliged to work till one is better.

Diseases, at least many of them, are like human beings. They are born, they flourish, and they die.

The best quarantine is hygiene.

Everyone who is sick is someone else’s patient zero.

Hygienic law, like martial law, supersedes rights in crises.

We should always presume the disease to be curable until its own nature proves it otherwise.

It is strange indeed that the more we learn about how to build health, the less healthy Americans become.