![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2uESbzHXyoKP-jORQydLCxG9wQnktcQNibTnIR3AQdvvaYCLR3wen_hqRTjbRWTB7c7B4dvMfogIpj5o6gBpiujLdaE6T-AUc7OrNfYzXYVlFRz2yx0Z68wODHMRJdZ27Qn_kmLOBdO3/s320/223house.jpg)
House: "Well, here's the flaw in your argument: if I enjoy hating life, I don't hate life, I enjoy it."
Wilson: "I didn't say it was rational. HIV testing is ninety-nine percent accurate, which means there are some people who test positive, who live with their own impending doom for months or years before finding out everything's okay. Weirdly, most of them don't react with happiness, or even anger. They get depressed, not because they wanted to die, but because they've defined themselves by their disease. Suddenly, what made them Œthem' isn't real."
House: "I don't define myself by my leg."
Wilson: "No, you have taken it one step further. The only way you could come to terms with your disability was to some way make it mean nothing. So you had to redefine everything. You have dismissed anything physical, anything not coldly, calculatingly intellectual."
That's Greg House for you. With a scimitar for a tongue, and a pair of singularly imposing breasts for a boss.