The art of healing comes from nature, not from the physician. Therefore the physician must start from nature, with an open mind.
ParacelsusRead
Dreams are not without meaning wherever they may come from — from fantasy, from the elements, or from another inspiration.
Interpretation
Dreams hold significance and are influenced by various sources of inspiration.
This quote by Paracelsus suggests that dreams are meaningful experiences that arise from different origins, whether they stem from our imagination, natural elements, or other sources of inspiration. It implies that the subconscious mind is actively processing thoughts and emotions, and the meanings behind dreams are worth exploring as they can provide insights into our inner selves and the world around us.
In practice
In a discussion about personal growth, one might say, 'As Paracelsus pointed out, dreams are not without meaning; they can guide our decisions,'
The art of healing comes from nature, not from the physician. Therefore the physician must start from nature, with an open mind.
Know that the philosopher has power over the stars, and not the stars over him.
The human body is vapor materialized by sunshine mixed with the life of the stars.
All things are poisons, for there is nothing without poisonous qualities. It is only the dose which makes a thing poison.
It should be forbidden and severely punished to remove cancer by cutting, burning, cautery, and other fiendish tortures. It is from nature that the disease comes, and from nature comes the cure, not from physicians.
Life is like music, it must be composed by ear, feeling and instinct, not by rule. Nevertheless one had better know the rules, for they sometimes guide in doubtful cases, though not often.
Talking to Yogi Berra about baseball is like talking to Homer about the Gods.
It's been months since I last wrote. I've lived in a state of mental slumber, leading the life of someone else. I've felt, very often, a vicarious happiness. I haven't existed. I've been someone else. I've lived without thinking.
No matter how much care we put into hiding our passions under the appearances of devotion and honor, they can always be seen to peer out through these covers.
Our works in stone, in paint, in print, are spared, some of them, for a few decades or a millennium or two, but everything must finally fall in war, or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash - the triumphs, the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life: we're going to die. "Be of good heart," cry the dead artists out of the living past. "Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing." Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much.
What is life without incompatible realities?
Is there not a sort of remorse that precedes sin? Was it remorse at the very fact that I existed?
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