There is a point when grief exceeds the human capacity to emote, and as a result one is strangely composed-

I still find the best way to understand a hospitalized patient is not by staring at the computer screen but by going to see the patient; it's only at the bedside that I can figure out what is important.

What did it say when a man had fewer clothes than books?

It was all I had, all I've ever had, the only currency, the only proof that I was alive. Memory.

She felt the familiar calmness of an emergency, but she understood the falseness of that feeling, now that it was her life at stake.

When I wake to the gift of yet another sunrise my first thought is to rouse him and say, I owe you the sight of morning.

Patients know in a heartbeat if they're getting a clumsy exam.