In the hands of the discoverer, medicine becomes a heroic art . . wherever life is dear he is a demigod.
In the hands of the discoverer, medicine becomes a heroic art . . wherever life is dear he is a demigod.
The pest of society are the egotist, they are dull and bright, sacred and profane, course and fine. It is a disease that like the flu falls on all constitutions.
We are a puny and fickle folk. Avarice, hesitation, and following are our diseases.
To a physician, each man, each woman, is an amplification of one organ.
As mens prayers are a disease of the will so are their creeds a disease of the intellect.
Poverty, Frost, Famine, Rain, Disease, are the beadles and guardsmen that hold us to Common Sense.
As every man is hunted by his own daemon, vexed by his own disease, this checks all his activity.
As there is a use in medicine for poisons, so the world cannot move without rogues.
There is no good theory of disease which does not at once suggest a cure.
The poisons are our principal medicines, which kill the disease and save the life.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories