Death is the cure for all diseases.
quote by Thomas Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We all labor against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.
quote by Thomas Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm involved in Project ALS which is trying to get money for stem cell research. That's one I've been pretty involved with because if you can cure that, you can cure so many other diseases.
quote by Gina Gershon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Research is what it's going to take to cure all these diseases.
quote by Mort Kondracke
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Medicine can only cure curable diseases, and then not always.
Doctors pour drugs of which they know little, to cure diseases of which they know less, into patients of whom they know nothing.
Doctors are men who prescribe medicines of which they know little, to cure diseases of which they know less in human beings of whom they know nothing.
Christe
Sexually transimitted diseases,
Of the diseases thart had led us to bury many who were deceased;
Yes, deceases from the diseases! !
And like the victims of sexual abuse;
But i am Christe in the land of your muse!
So, try to be well educated on this issue at hand.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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What sense would it make or what would it benfit a physician if he discovered the origin of the diseases but could not cure or alleviate them?
quote by Paracelsus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet as a Feeler of Pain
What makes a poet?
Many have tried to guess.
Is it a voice
like a conduit,
a plainspokenness to grief,
the hairs of the head
dancing on end,
the blood swarming
with the voices
of all those who have died,
will die,
& will also be born?
Is it a catch
in the throat
that awakens the eyes,
is it in the eyes themselves
or is it something
in the heart?
I think it is pain-
an openness to pain,
so that the least leaf
cuts the hand
& the smallest tear
cuts the cheek
like jagged crystal,
so that the world
is a sick infant
& the poet its mother,
praying, crooning, promising
to be good
if only the cure
takes.
There is, of course,
no cure.
Poetry does not cure
the poet
& the poet
does not cure the world.
Usually he catches
the world's diseases
& dies
even before his time.
But against all odds
& all indifference,
another one is born.
The world must have
someone to feel its pain
& speak of it.
The poet is that mouth.
poem by Erica Jong
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The Good Physician
How lost was my condition
Till Jesus made me whole!
There is but one Physician
Can cure a sin-sick soul.
Next door to death he found me,
And snatched me from the grave,
To tell to all around me,
His wondrous pow'r to save.
The worst of all diseases
Is light, compared with sin;
On every part it seizes,
But rages most within:
'Tis palsy, plague, and fever,
And madness -- all combined;
And none but a believer
The least relief can find.
From men great skill professing
I thought a cure to gain;
But this proved more distressing,
And added to my pain:
Some said that nothing ailed me,
Some gave me up for lost;
Thus every refuge failed me,
And all my hopes were crossed.
At length this great Physician,
How matchless is his grace!
Accepted my petition,
And undertook my case:
First gave me sight to view him,
For sin my eyes had sealed;
Then bid me look unto him,
I looked, and I was healed.
A dying, risen Jesus,
Seen by the eye of faith;
At once from danger frees us,
And saves the soul from death:
Come then to this Physician,
His help he'll freely give;
He makes no hard condition,
'Tis only -- look and live.
poem by John Newton
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To build public support for what they're doing, scientists are always going to say there is the prospect to cure all these horrible diseases, but they're cautious for the most part in saying when those cures will arrive.
quote by Richard Ashcroft
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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How Lost Was My Condition
How lost was my condition
Till Jesus made me whole!
There is but one physician
Can cure a sin-sick soul
Next door to death he found me,
And snatched me from the grave,
To tell all around me
His wond'rous pow'r to save.
The worst of all diseases
Is light compared with sin;
On ev'ry part it seizes,
But rages most within;
'Tis palsy, plague, and fever,
And madness-all combined;
And none, but a believer,
The least relief can find.
From men, great skill professing,
I sought a cure to gain;
But this proved more distressing,
And added to my pain;
Some said that nothing ailed me,
Some gave me up for lost;
Thus ev'ry refuge failed me,
And all my hopes were crossed.
At length this great Physician,
How matchless is His grace!
Accepted my petition,
And undertook my case;
First, gave me sight to view him,
For sin my eyes had sealed-
Then bit me look unto Him;
I looked, and I was healed.
A dying, risen Jesus,
Seen by the eye of faith,
At once from danger frees us,
And saves the soul from death;
Come, then, to this Physician,
His help he'll freely give,
He makes no hard condition-
To Jesus look and live!
poem by John Newton
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Living With The Big C
Living with the big C
is a paradox of life and death,
the sword of Damocles
held above your head.
You search for treatment
grasping at any cure
you can find
to set it in remission.
The more you grasp
for the magic cure
the more your life
ebbs farther away.
Still you hope with prayer
one day in the near future
the cure you’re looking for
will eventually be found.
poem by David Harris
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Uncurable Pain
Someone out there has a cure to my pain,
But the faster they cure mine someone else feels the same.
It's probably a cure for my pain, maybe it is, or maybe it's not,
Whatever this pain is, it hurts alot.
My pain is like a river that never starts to flow,
But I know I'm not the only person with pain, other people have pain also.
Pain is like one of a kind like me and you,
It doesn't hurt as bad because I know it is something that I got to live through.
This pain is a mixture between life and death,
It was me all along hurting myself.
poem by La'Kira Jackson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But cord blood also holds the great potential of producing pleural potential cells that could cure many other diseases such as juvenile diabetes, a disease that I live with every day.
quote by Dan Lipinski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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To the same Lady upon Mr. Burtons Melancholy
If in this Glass of Humours you do find
The Passions or diseases of your mind,
Here without pain, you safely may endure,
Though not to suffer, yet to read your cure.
But if you nothing meet you can apply,
Then ere you need, you have a remedy.
And I do wish you never may have cause
To be adjudg'd by these fantastick Laws;
But that this books example may be known,
By others Melancholy, not your own.
poem by Henry King
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The diseases of the present have little in common with the diseases of the past save that we die of them.
quote by Agnes Repplier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: On Medical Practice
The Diagnosis of diseases is prime!
Listen, see, feel and treat patient with care;
For life or death depends on precious time,
And cure in the true sense is rather rare.
And Therapeusis is both art and science;
Know ill-effects of drugs before you give;
Act per the Ethics, also Conscience;
Weigh benefits to risks; let patient live!
The Prognosis is important to all!
All complications must be expected;
Let Nature take the lives she wants to call;
The right to die is to be respected.
O Physician, thine job is most sacred!
Know well the living from the nearly-dead.
7-1-2003
Dedicated to PHYSICIANS and HEALERS
On
World Doctor’s Day
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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