If originally it was not good for a man to be alone, it is much worse for a sick man to be so; he thinks too much of his distemper, and magnifies it.
(Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl Chesterfield (1694-1773), British statesman, man of letters. letter, Oct. 17, 1768, Letters Written by the Late Right Honourable Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl, Earl of Chesterfield, to his Son, Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl, Esq, 5th ed., vol. IV, pp. 275-76, London (1774).)
For men tied fast to the absolute, bled of their differences, drained of their dreams by authoritarian leeches until nothing but pulp is left, become a massive, sick Thing whose sheer weight is used ruthlessly by ambitious men. Here is the real enemy of the people: our own selves dehumanized into "the masses." And where is the David who can slay this giant?
(Lillian Smith (1897-1966), U.S. author. Prologue, The Journey (1954).)
The sick man is taken away by the institution that takes charge not of the individual, but of his illness, an isolated object transformed or eliminated by technicians devoted to the defense of health the way others are attached to the defense of law and order or tidiness.
(Michel de Certeau (1925-1986), French author, critic. "An Unthinkable Practice," ch. 14, The Practice of Everyday Life (1974).)
Put me on a moving train if I'm sick, and I'll get well. It's good for mind and body to get out and see the world.
(Maria D. Brown (1827-1927), U.S. homemaker. As quoted in Grandmother Brown's Hundred Years, ch. 9, by Harriet Connor Brown (1929).
Said sometime between 1907 and 1913. Following the death of her husband in 1906, when she was 79, Brown began to travel alone by train and continued to do so for the next seven years.)