You can’t find the soul with a scalpel.

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.

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.”

Physician, heal yourself: thus you help your patient too. Let his best help be to see with his own eyes the man who makes himself well.

He is the best physician who is the most ingenious inspirer of hope.

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

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.”

The only places where American medicine can fully live up to its possibilities are the teaching hospitals.

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.

There must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them.

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

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

A miracle drug is any drug that will do what the label says it will do.