William Shakespeare on Disease
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“Diseases desperate grown, By desperate appliance are reliev'd, Or not at all.”
“O, he's a limb, that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.”
“I'll forbear; And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indispos'd and sickly fit For the sound man.”
“This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.”
“Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils that take leave, On their departure most of all show evil.”