And Now I'm Using Sarcasm,

Two Diverse Gates There Are Of Bodiless Dreams, These Of Sawn Ivory, And Those Of Horn. Such Dreams As Issue Where The Ivory Gleams Fly Without Fate, And Turn Our Hopes To Scorn. But Dreams Which Issue Through The Burnished Horn, What Man Soe'er Beholds Them On His Bed, These Work With Virtue And Of Truth Are Born.

From His Tongue Flowed Speech Sweeter Than Honey.

The Rule Of The Many Is Not Well. One Must Be Chief In War And One The King.

As Leaves On The Trees, Such Is The Life Of Man.

Oh, My Tattered Rags Are Caught On Your Coffee Table.