“Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new.”

The highest degree of a medicine is Love.

For one country is different from another; its earth is different, as are its stones, wines, bread, meat, and everything that grows and thrives in a specific region.

The art of medicine has its roots in the heart.

Thoughts create a new heaven, a new firmament, a new source of energy, from which new arts flow.

This is alchemy, and this is the office of Vulcan; he is the apothecary and chemist of the medicine.

He who knows nothing, loves nothing. He who can do nothing understands nothing. He who understands nothing is worthless.

Once a disease has entered the body, all parts which are healthy must fight it: not one alone, but all. Because a disease might mean their common death. Nature knows this; and Nature attacks the disease with whatever help she can muster.

Let no man belong to another that can belong to himself.

Since nothing is so secret or hidden that it cannot be revealed, everything depends on the discovery of those things that manifest the hidden.

The most secure method, to ruin your health, is a SICK BED!

Be not another, if you can be yourself.

I am different. Let this not upset you.

However, anyone to whom this happens should not leave his room upon awakening, should speak to no-one, but remain alone and sober until everything comes back to him, and he recalls the dream.

A mortal lives not through that breath that flows in and that flows out. The source of his life is another and this causes the breath to flow.

Time is a brisk wind, for each hour it brings something new… but who can understand and measure its sharp breath, its mystery and its design?

Magic has power to experience and fathom things which are inaccessible to human reason. For magic is a great secret wisdom, just as reason is a great public folly.

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds: And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave; Some chord in unison with what we hear Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.

My idea of exercise is a good brisk sit.

To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.

Will it, and set to work briskly.