A Library goes on as far as thought can reach. — Robertson Davies

The problem for a Paracelsian physician like me is that I see diseases as disguises in which people present me with their wretchedness.

"Can you tell me the time of the last complete show?"

"You have the wrong number."

"Eh? Isn't this the Odeon?"

I decide to give a Burtonian answer.

"No, this is the Great Theatre of Life. Admission is free but the taxation is mortal. You come when you can, and leave when you must. The show is continuous. Good-night."

But what ailed Little Eva St. Clair, in Uncle Tom's Cabin? What carried off Little Nell?...They have no clear symptoms, and seem to die of Ingrowing Virtue.