“My lord said, amongst other things, that he did not propose to burden the doctor with the details of his genealogy. He consigned the doctor and all his works, severally and comprehensively described, to hell, and finished up his epic speech by a pungent and Rabelaisian criticism of the whole race of leeches.”

“He's a cabinet minister and his mother was a cook. My father was a doctor and I'm a cook. Perhaps I passed him on the way down, or did he pass me on the way up?”

“He did not know, and perhaps this doctor did. And he could not take the chance of pitting his certain ignorance against this man's possible knowledge. He was trapped as his people were always trapped, and would be until, as he had said, they could be sure that the things in the books ere really in the books.”

“It wasn’t. Ray was too alive, too vital, too much of everything. Everything about him was real, solid. He couldn’t be these things the doctor described. Not breathing on his own. No brain activity. Not Ray. “I don’t have home without him”, Carrie said when doctor asked her to go home. “I won’t give up on him. Do you hear me, Doctor? Don’t you give up on him!”

“He embraced me before them all, and he cried: 'Let every man favor his own doctor. This Dr. Colet is the doctor for me....”

“after all the work of the philosophers on his soul and the doctors on his body, what can we really say we know about a man? That he is, when all is said and done, just a passage for liquids and solids, a pipe of flesh.”