Jane, my little darling (so I will call you, for so you are), you don’t know what you are talking about; you misjudge me again: it is not because she is mad I hate her....

Y por que el sol es tan mal amigodel caminante en el desierto?Y por que el sol es tan simpaticoen el jardin del hospital?And why is the sun such a bad companionto the traveler in...

Exuberant health is always, as such, sickness also.

When I hear someone’s sick, my first thought is selfishly, Better him than me. My second thought is more altruistic: Better him than one of my loved ones.

and I told myself — as I’ve told myself before — that the body shuts down then the pain gets too bad, that consciousness is temporary, that this will pass. But just like always, I...

The baby was warm against my chest. I knew I was broken too. I wasn’t like other people. I was scared and weird and anxious and sad lots of the time, and I didn’t know...

She sounded angry. That was the way she’d been as long as he’d known her. If she became ill, it irritated her. She was annoyed by sickness. She seemed to regard it as a personal...

I suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give love rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander...

Here is the problem: Poor Americans consume too little healthcare, especially preventive healthcare. Other Americans—often rich Americans—consume too much healthcare, often unwisely, and sometimes to their detriment. The American healthcare system combines famine with gluttony.

The condition of our soul is usually the source of many sicknesses.

It’s like they say about soldiers coming back from war. People all around you are dying. Really dying, Eric. You go in for a week’s chemotherapy and you’re in a ward with people who are...

There should be an age limit for patients, he thinks as he takes off his shoes. You just have to say to them, “You lived long enough. From now on, think of what’s left as...

Some people are attracted to sickness, to the kind of madness where sparks fly off the head, to the incoherence of despair, masked by nervous energy, which winds up looking like bewildered joy.

Eastern medicine is not about curing your sickness. It’s about keeping you well.

Was that really all there was to love? Darkness undone, a hand on your forehead. In the meantime all you could do was wait–tired, alone, the minutes as long or short as a lifetime–for the...