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

Medicine is not only a science; it is also an art. It does not consist of compounding pills and plasters; it deals with the very processes of life, which must be understood before they may be guided.

As you talk, so is your heart.

Know that the philosopher has power over the stars, and not the stars over him.

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.