Classification (n.) took its place in history, necessarily, between a theory of the mark and a theory of the organism.
Classification (n.) that treats diseases as particular beings is always faulty: a judicious mind is drawn, almost in spite of itself, to look for sick organs.
Classification (n.) deserves no exaggerated importance: we discover nature's procedures as best we can, and no scheme will ever give a precise picture of her progress.
Classification (n.) says a cat and a dog are less alike than two greyhounds, even if both are tame, embalmed, or have just broken the water pitcher — and its ground is never in the animals.
Classification (n.) was revived, paradoxically, by the anatomists: whether a disease had a seat at all depended on its species, so the lesion became only the first mark of its kind.
Classification (n.) after 1775 stops referring the visible back to itself: it ties the visible to the invisible, its deeper cause, then climbs back from that hidden architecture to the signs on the surface of bodies.
Classification (n.) changed sides with Cuvier: before him the living being was a locality of natural classification; after him, being classifiable is a property of the living being.