Night thoughts

BMJ 1995; 310 doi: (Published 04 February 1995) Cite this as: BMJ 1995;310:335
  1. Liam Farrell

    I like the winter; it is the season of truth. The land sheds its pretence of Pre-Raphaelite lushness, liberated at last from the imprisoning foliage like David cut free by Michaelangelo from his marble tomb, and the ashkeys hang fluttering in the wind on spectral trees which even Spinoza would have found difficult to love. The hilltops are spare and scant enough to set Mussorgsky whistling a tune, and nature takes its clothes off and runs buck naked around the country. The dance goes on, but without the illusory decor. It is a time when we see through to the bare bones of things, and medicine is one of these. …

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