Quotes About Sickness

I've really been sick with this cold, but I think I might have kept the columns going anyhow except I was just so low in spirit, I didn't have the will to struggle against them when my deadline was so close and I felt so lousy.

When we struggle, as so many do, in grinding poverty, or when our enemies prevail against us, or when sickness is not healed, the enemy of our souls can send his evil message that there is no God or that if He exists He does not care about us.

Let's face it, in America today we don't have a health care system, we have a sick care system.

When any part of your body is sick or in pain, your mind is able to stand outside of the pain and appraise it. But when your mind is the problem, your very means of perception is amiss.

It's the price of rootlessness. Motion sickness. The only cure: to keep moving.

The art of being sick is not the same as the art of getting well.

Jeg var bare trist. Jeg var bare skuffa. Vondt i kroppen, verk i hele meg. For Yngve var ikke der til å se meg. Hva kunne være viktigere, tenkte jeg, i min maniske, forelska logikk, enn å være her? Hva, Yngve? Jeg er jo her? Så syk kan du vel ikke være? Faen, hvor er du Yngve, det er jo helg, skal jeg ikke få se deg før mandag nå, da? Jeg er jo bare her for deg. Jeg har jo forandra meg for deg.

back before both his father and Char had died from the weird sickness that swept the palace a few years ago.

Even the best-conducted women [...] have an aversion for the impotent," [...] so one should conceal one's wounds and hide the crippling deficiencies of life – poverty, misfortune, sickness, ill-success. People begin by being touched and moved to tenderness by their friends' distress; presently this changes to pity, which has something humiliating about it; then to a masterful giving of advice; and then to scorn.

Should I feel better if I were to vomit?' asked Jagiello. 'I doubt it,' said Stephen. 'It has done nothing for the Colonel.

and when he was weary he lay down upon his land and he slept and the health of the earth spread into his flesh and he was healed of his sickness.

Because all the sick do not recover, therefore medicine is not an art.

Doth sickness fill my heart with fear, 'Tis sweet to know that Thou art near; Am I with dread of justice tried, 'Tis sweet to know that Christ hath died.

Throw up whatever's making you sick, Darren, he said, then get your behind back in here.

If a boy became sick he walked alone; the others were afraid to catch what he had, and did not want to know him too well for he would surely die soon. We did not want his voice in our heads.

Mankind has gotten so very sick. Sometimes I'm glad that I'm very near the end of my days on earth.

I'm gonna be sick," Burt moaned. "I'm gonna be sick!

But he is sick," Potting interjected. "Takes a sick mind to shove a knife so deep into someone it breaks their spine.

O hell! to choose love by another's eyes! Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lighting in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath pwer to say, 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion.

But are not some whole that we must make sick?

Is it physical To walk unbraced and suck up the humors Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick, And will he steal out of his wholesome bed To dare the vile contagion of the night?

Or if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, Making it momentany as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, Brief as the lightning in the collied night, That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And, ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!' The jaws of darkness do devour it up. So quick bright things come to confusion

With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord, not with love. Prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen and hang me up at the door of a brothel house for the sign of blind Cupid.

I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox.