Quotes from Notes on Nursing

“Every woman, or at least almost every woman, in England has, at one time or another of her life, charge of the personal health of somebody, whether child or invalid,--in other words, every woman is a nurse.”

A plain, argumentative opening that builds a broad claim step by step through qualifying clauses.

“I know an intelligent humane house surgeon who makes a practice of keeping the ward windows open. The physicians and surgeons invariably close them while going their rounds; and the house surgeon very properly as invariably opens them whenever the doctors have turned their backs.”

Dry, precise irony in the balanced 'invariably' repetition sets up a wry picture of the ward.

“The extraordinary confusion between cold and ventilation, even in the minds of well educated people, illustrates this. To make a room cold is by no means necessarily to ventilate it. Nor is it at all necessary, in order to ventilate a room, to chill it.”

Parallel sentences with repeated phrasing make a correction feel clear and firm.

“Always air your room, then, from the outside air, if possible. Windows are made to open; doors are made to shut--a truth which seems extremely difficult of apprehension.”

Deadpan understatement at the end of a plain instruction gives the advice a sardonic edge.

“But were a trustworthy woman in charge of the ward, or set of wards, the thing would not, in all certainty, have happened. In other words, it does not happen where a trustworthy woman is really in charge.”

Restating a point in 'in other words' form makes the argument crisp and insistent.

“Variety of form and brilliancy of colour in the objects presented to patients are actual means of recovery.”

A short, declarative claim that asserts its idea without hedging.

“One of the greatest observers of human things (not physiological), says, in another language, “Where there is sun there is thought.” All physiology goes to confirm this. Where is the shady side of deep vallies, there is cretinism.”

A compact aphoristic line followed by an unexpected, vivid image of the shaded valley.

“Death and disease are like the workhouse, they take from the same family, the same house, or in other words, the same conditions. Why will we not observe what they are?”

A pointed comparison to the workhouse, closing on a direct, impatient rhetorical question.

“It is often thought that medicine is the curative process. It is no such thing; medicine is the surgery of functions, as surgery proper is that of limbs and organs. Neither can do anything but remove obstructions; neither can cure; nature alone cures.”

Tight parallel structure and a blunt correction show her clear, authoritative prose style.

“Oh, leave these jargons, and go your way straight to God’s work, in simplicity and singleness of heart.”

An exhortatory, plainly devout close that shows the moral register of her writing.