“Everything is a drug; it depends on the dose.”

This process is alchemy: its founder is the smith Vulcan.

Women’s regular bleeding engenders phantoms.

Life is like music, it must be composed by ear, feeling and instinct, not by rule. Nevertheless one had better know the rules, for they sometimes guide in doubtful cases, though not often.

All things are poisons. It is simply the dose that distinguishes between a poison and a remedy.

Many have said of Alchemy, that it is for the making of gold and silver. For me such is not the aim, but to consider only what virtue and power may lie in medicines.

Man is ill because he is never still.

Men who are devoid of the power of spiritual perception are unable to recognize anything that cannot be seen externally.

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.