Clinic (n.) replaced a botany of symptoms with a grammar of signs.
The Clinic (n.) turned a way of teaching and saying into a way of learning and seeing.
The Clinic (n.) was probably the first try at building a science on what the gaze does and decides.
The Clinic (n.) began when the doctor stopped asking 'What is the matter with you?' and started asking 'Where does it hurt?'
The Clinic (n.) was long imagined as medicine's one unchanging element, where truth and time were bound together while theories rose and fell above it.
The Clinic (n.) is both a new carving-up of things and the rule for putting them into words — the language we have learned to call 'positive science'.
The Clinic (n.) laid the concrete individual open to the language of reason for the first time in Western history — a major event in man's relation to himself.
The Clinic (n.) spoke, in the eighteenth century, not a scientific language but a gaming language, in which truth could be won or lost by chance or by skill.
The Clinic (n.) is the task of perceiving, without end, the events of an open field — no longer the search for an essential truth beneath the sensible individual.
The Clinic (n.) rested on a formidable postulate: that everything visible can be said, and is wholly visible precisely because it can wholly be said.
The Clinic (n.) cared for history, not geography: for forty years clinical thought itself kept medicine from hearing Morgagni's lesson on the seats of disease.
The Clinic (n.) is the interest the poor pay on the capital the rich have invested in the hospital — a heavy surcharge, paid in knowledge for science and in survival for the rich.
The Clinic (n.) had a brief euphoria, a golden age with no future, when seeing, saying, and learning to see by saying what one saw were a single transparent act.
The Clinic (n.) is not just a place to diagnose and treat sick persons... it is also a way of thinking and speaking, is a discursive practice that links health with knowledge.
Clinic (n.) was not born of autopsy, nor of the search for hidden causes, nor of the teaching hospital — all of which existed before it — but of a new relation set up among them.
The Clinic (n.) raised a moral question: by what right does a man whom poverty drove to seek help become the object of a gaze that studies him in order to know others better?
The Clinic (n.) is a field made philosophically visible by carrying grammar and probability into the domain of disease — structures as datable as Condillac and his heirs.
The Clinic (n.) discovered nothing by looking in the eighteenth century; it ran one way, master to pupil, and only doubled the art of demonstrating with the art of showing.
The Clinic (n.) was born half in secret once the professor's chair fell silent: beneath the old speech a language without words took shape, owing its truth not to speech but to the gaze alone.
The Clinic (n.) was, in the old myth, the positive time of knowledge against the self-cancelling time of systems: it did not need inventing, only rediscovering, by denying whatever denied it.