Roads Diverge Quotes

The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the road less traveled by and they CANCELLED MY FRIKKIN' SHOW. I totally shoulda took the road that had all those people on it. Damn.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one most travelled by. It was littered with corpses, as such roads are. But as you will have noticed, my own corpse is not among them.

We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost's familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road — the one less traveled by — offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth.

I brought them up here to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others. Now, those of you -- I see the look in your eyes like, "I would've walked differently." Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping. Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, "That's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

What a queer gamble our existence is. We decide to do A instead of B and then the two roads diverge utterly and may lead in the end to heaven and to hell. Only later one sees how much and how awfully the fates differ. Yet what were the reasons for the choice? They may have been forgotten. Did one know what one was choosing? Certainly not.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, but I chose neither one. Instead, I set sail in my little boat to watch a sunset from a different view that couldn't be seen from shore. Then I climbed the tallest mountain peak to watch the amber sun through the clouds. Finally, I traveled to the darkest part of the valley to see the last glimmering rays of light through the misty fog. It was every perspective I experienced on my journey that left the leaves trodden black, and that has made all the difference.

I still think about you. I think about that fork in the road, what would have happened if we'd taken it. Two roads diverged. The thing about roads, is sometimes you happen upon them again. Sometimes you get another chance to travel down the same path.

I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that had made all the difference.

The most difficult part ot traditional taekwondo is not learning the first kick or punch. It is not struggling to remember the motions of a poomsae or becoming aquainted with Korean culture. Rather, it is taking the first step across the threshold of the dojang door. This is where roads diverge, where choices are made that will resonate throughout a lifetime.

What if there are more than two roads diverging in the wood? What if there are more roads than trees? What if there is no end to the choices you could make? What would Robert Frost do then?

Such regrets are of no practical use. I made choices, and then, having made them, I had fewer choices. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one most travelled by. It was littered with corpses, as such roads are. But as you will have noticed, my own corpse is not among them.

Two roads diverged in a yellow-wallpapered room, and we pirates took the better one,

The Road not Taken [...] I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference...

Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.  –Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. "The Road Not Taken

There was rarely an obvious branching point in a person's life. People changed slowly, over time. You didn't take one step, then find yourself in a completely new location. You first took a little step off the path to avoid some rocks. For a while, you walked alongside the path, but then you wandered out a little way to step on softer soil. Then you stopped paying attention as you drifted farther and farther away. Finally, you found yourself in the wrong city, wondering why the signs on the roadway hadn't led you better.

When two roads diverge...take the one that leads to the beach!

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence; Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost

It takes energy for new roads to diverge in new woods, and no energy is spent with complete efficiency, without waste. Where wood has burned, there will be ash. The waste product of the constantly dividing multiverse is a fine, drifting mist of regret, and no wormhole has ever starved.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

She sighs, and then gives me this look. It's new and I don't like it. Sort of, Two roads diverged in a wood, mine is normal, but I hope you can be happy for me even though you are Miss Havisham.

What it demonstrates is how difficult it is for any of us to listen to our own voice or maintain our own beliefs in the presence of others. If any of you think you would have marched differently, then ask yourself why you were clapping. Lads, there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular. As Frost said, “‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,/And that has made all the difference.

We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost’s familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road--the one less traveled by--offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth.

Oh, though: I should know by now that you can't always trust feelings-which is especially problematic when you can't even trust the things that masquerade as facts. Hindsight; that's the only thing worth trusting these days. Two roads diverge in a wood, and I-I take the one less traveled by.

I have been enormously impressed by the role that pure chance plays in determining our life history. I was reminded of some famous lines of Robert Frost: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both I took the one less travled by, And that has made all the difference. As I recalled my own experience and development, I was impressed by the series of lucky accidents that determined the road I traveled. > From "Lives of the Laureates" pg.67

Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in the woods & I - I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference by

When two roads diverge, take the one that leads to the beach.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. The Road Not Taken-

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. The Road Not Taken (- Robert Frost-)

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

Such regrets are of no practical use. I made choices, and then, having made them, I had fewer choices. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one most travelled by.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference

Saying goodbye is rough. I think I told you once that goodbye sounds so stupid and final and blah, blah, blah. But I was younger then. I didn’t know what I know now. Roads can diverge. It’s tough but true. It’ll be okay. In the end. So you’ll go one way. And we’ll go another. Maybe one day we’ll meet again. But even if we don’t, remember this: We have lived. We have loved. We have lost. But we’re standing. For all that we are, we’re still standing.

Such regrets are of no practical use. I made choices, and then, having made them, I had fewer choices. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one most travelled by. It was littered with corpses, as such roads are.

The way of knowledge,” he continued, “is like our old way in hunting. You begin with a mere trail — a footprint. If you follow that faithfully, it may lead you to a clearer trail — a track — a road. Later on there will be many tracks, crossing and diverging one from the other. Then you must be careful, for success lies in the choice of the right road. You must be doubly careful, for traps will be laid for you, of which the most dangerous is the spirit-water, that causes a man to forget his self-respect

From long ago, many place names have been preserved in poetry and passed down to us; but hillsides slide into rivers and are swept away; roads are rebuilt, and stones vanish, buried beneath earth; old trees wither, replaced by saplings; times change, generations diverge, and traces of the past are lost in uncertainty. Here, however, at a stone memorial undoubtedly a thousand years old, the ancients stood before my eyes, and I peered into their hearts. This is one of the rewards of a pilgrimage, one of the joys of being alive; forgetting the drudgery of the road, I simply wept.

Robert Frost wrote about “two roads diverg[ing] in a wood” and taking “the one less traveled.” But, in Molly’s case, both roads continued on to equally devastating destinations, even if the specifics were different. Which of the two paths would you choose if one went off a cliff and the other into quicksand?

In the irresistible logic of guilt, one evil leads to another, one sin is developed out of another. There is nothing abrupt, nothing casual in the process. The road to sin is smooth, because an army of transgressions has passed over it. When such a development takes place, the community is filled with consternation. Men meet each other and say, "Have you heard what has happened? Mr. A. has turned out a defaulter. Mr. B. has been robbing his bank. How could he have done it?" Alas! he did it long ago, when he took the first step, when he diverged a very little way from the path of right. After that, every other step was easy, natural, and logical.

We do not know what our pets are thinking. This lack of knowledge allows us to project onto our pets our own thoughts and feelings, and thereby to feel an emotional closeness with them which may not correspond to reality at all. Second, we find our pets satisfactory only insofar as their wills coincide with ours. This is the basis on which we generally select our pets, and if their wills begin to diverge significantly from our own, we get rid of them. We don’t keep pets around very long when they protest or fight back against us.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Søren Kierkegaard maintained that once a person finds the path of grace in his heart and fully enters the realm of love, the world – however imperfect it may be – becomes rich and beautiful, consisting entirely of opportunities for love. Eternity, he believed, will ask me (and you, and you) only one question: have you lived your life in despair or in love? Despair is a sign of a life lived wrongly. Despair is vanity turned upside down. Love is the way. Whenever despair wins, it’s the natural way. Whenever love wins, it is a moment of grace. When love is victorious and defeats despair completely, you’ve reached the path of grace. So, two roads diverge in life. The choice is ours, and the things that matter to us will light our way.

I’m sure of one thing,” she said earnestly. “It hurts to—to let go of anything beautiful. But something will come to take its place, something different, of course, but better. The future’s always better than we can possibly think it will be . . . We ought to live confidently. Because whatever’s ahead, it’s going to be better than we’ve had.” Rose Wilder Lane Diverging Roads

Terry", I pleaded with all my soul. "Please listen to me and understand, I'm not a pimp." An hour ago I'd thought *she* was a hustler. How sad it was. Our minds, with their store of madness, had diverged.

Time shall show us. The post of honour and the post of shame, the general's station and the drummer's, a peer's statue in Westminster Abbey and a seaman's hammock in the bosom of the deep, the mitre and the workhouse, the woolsack and the gallows, the throne and the guillotine - the travellers to all are on the great high road; but it has wonderful divergences, and only Time shall show us whither each traveller is bound.

I wondered where those roads, in which the world diverged, became the promises of another life, the hilly embankment that touched the horizon in tranquil virescent spikes, splattered with hazel lines, that conquered truth and candour.

Two links diverged from a yellow page, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it broke in the understroke; Then took the other, as just as fair And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there May wear them really about the same, And both that page-load equally lay In bits no click had colored black. — adapted from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

In the tense silence the continual buzzing of the horseflies was the only audible sound, that and the constant rain beating down in the distance, and, uniting the two, the ever more frequent scritch-scratch of the bent acacia trees outside, and the strange nightshift work of the bugs in the table legs and in various parts of the counter whose irregular pulse measured out the small parcels of time, apportioning the narrow space into which a word, a sentence or a movement might perfectly fit. The entire end-of-October night was beating with a single pulse, its own strange rhythm sounding through trees and rain and mud in a manner beyond words or vision: a vision present in the low light, in the slow passage of darkness, in the blurred shadows, in the working of tired muscles; in the silence, in its human subjects, in the undulating surface of the metaled road; in the hair moving to a different beat than do the dissolving fibers of the body; growth and decay on their divergent paths; all these thousands of echoing rhythms, this confusing clatter of night noises, all parts of an apparently common stream, that is the attempt to forget despair; though behind things other things appear as if by mischief, and once beyond the power of the eye they don't hang together. So with the door left open as if forever, with the lock that will never open. There is a chasm, a crevice.

The horses start tugging, one this way, one that; the wheels are drawn to such a divergence that they seem perpendicular to the road, a sign that the chariot has stopped. Or else, if it is moving, it might as well remain still, as happens to many people before whom the ramps of the most smooth and speedy roads open.

The entire end-of-October night was beating with a single pulse, its own strange rhythm sounding through trees and rain and mud in a manner beyond words or vision: a vision present in the low light, in the slow passage of darkness, in the blurred shadows, in the working of tired muscles; in the silence, in its human subjects, in the undulating surface of the metaled road; in the hair moving to a different beat than do the dissolving fibers of the body; growth and decay on their divergent paths; all these thousands of echoing rhythms, this confusing clatter of night noises, all parts of an apparently common stream, that is the attempt to forget despair; though behind things other things appear as if by mischief, and once beyond the power of the eye they no longer hang together. So with the door left open as if forever, with the lock that will never open.

Just as summer-killed meat draws flies, so the court draws spurious sages, philosophists, and acosmists who remain there as long as their purses and their wits will maintain them, in the hope (at first) of an appointment from the Autarch and (later) of obtaining a tutorial position in some exalted family. At sixteen or so, Thecla was attracted, as I think young women often are, to their lectures on theogony, thodicy, and the like, and I recall one particularly in which a phoebad put forward as an ultimate truth the ancient sophistry of the existence of three Adonai, that of the city (or of the people), that of the poets, and that of the philosophers. Her reasoning was that since the beginning of human consciousness (if such a beginning ever was) there have been vast numbers of persons in the three categories who have endeavored to pierce the secret of the divine. If it does not exist, they should have discovered that long before; if it does, it is not possible that Truth itself should mislead them. Yet the beliefs of the populace, the insights of the rhapsodists, and the theories of the metaphysicians have so far diverged that few of them can so much as comprehend what the others say, and someone who knew nothing of any of their ideas might well believe there was no connection at all between them. May it not be, she asked (and even now I am not certain I can answer), that instead of traveling, as has always been supposed, down three roads to the same destination, they are actually traveling toward three quite different ones? After all, when in common life we behold three roads issuing from the same crossing, we do not assume they all proceed toward the same goal. I found (and find) this suggestion as rational as it is repellent, and it represents for me all that monomaniacal fabric of argument, so tightly woven that not even the tiniest objection or spark of light can escape its net, in which human minds become enmeshed whenever the subject is one in which no appeal to fact is possible. As a fact the Claw was thus an incommensurable. No quantity of money, no piling up of archipelagoes or empires could approach it in value any more than the indefinite multiplication of horizontal distance could be made to equal vertical distance. If it was, as I believed, a thing from outside the universe, then its light, which I had seen shine faintly so often, and a few times brightly, was in some sense the only light we had. If it were destroyed, we were left fumbling in the dark.

With that in mind, I pull the door shut and look for a seat belt to buckle. I find only the frayed end of a seat belt and a broken buckle. “Where did you find this piece of junk?” says Christina. “I stole it from the factionless. They fix them up. It wasn’t easy to get it to start. Better ditch those jackets, girls.” I ball up our jackets and toss them out the half-open window. Marcus shifts the truck into drive, and it groans. I half expect it to stay still when he presses the gas pedal, but it moves. From what I remember, it takes about an hour to drive from the Abnegation sector to Amity headquarters, and the trip requires a skilled driver. Marcus pulls onto one of the main thoroughfares and pushes his foot into the gas pedal. We lurch forward, narrowly avoiding a gaping hole in the road. I grab the dashboard to steady myself. “Relax, Beatrice,” says Marcus. “I’ve driven a car before.” “I’ve done a lot of things before, but that doesn’t mean I’m any good at them!” Marcus smiles and jerks the truck to the left so that we don’t hit a fallen stoplight. Christina whoops as we bump over another piece of debris, like she’s having the time of her life. “A different kind of stupid, right?” she says, her voice loud enough to be heard over the rush of wind through the cab. I clutch the seat beneath me and try not to think of what I ate for dinner.

Two roads diverged in Delhi and Jish Guha took the one that led straight to a seedy bar in Paharganj.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I- I took the one less traveled by.

Two roads diverged in the middle of my life, I heard a wise man say I took the road less traveled by And that’s made the difference every night and every day —Larry Norman (with apologies to Robert Frost)

The paths people chose had such a lasting impact on their lives, each decision affecting the next, and sometimes the road diverged.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference

Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost. ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – / I took the one less travelled by, / And that has made all the difference . . .

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. - Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

what it demonstrates is how difficult it is for any of us to listen to our own voice or maintain our own beliefs in the presence of others. if any of you think you would have marched differently, then ask yourself why you were clapping. lads, there is a great need in all of us to be accepted, but you must trust what is unique or different about yourself, even if it is odd or unpopular. as frost said, '''two roads diverged in a wood, and i- i took the one less traveled by,/and that has made all the difference.

Two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood And That Has Made All The Difference” -Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in the woods and I, I took the one less traveled,’” he had told them. He had learned that the line was often misinterpreted because Frost had regrets in his life and had not actually taken that road.

You have no other choice, I tell myself. There is no other way. With that in mind, I pull the door shut and look for a seat belt to buckle. I find only the frayed end of a seat belt and a broken buckle. “Where did you find this piece of junk?” says Christina. “I stole it from the factionless. They fix them up. It wasn’t easy to get it to start. Better ditch those jackets, girls.” I ball up our jackets and toss them out the half-open window. Marcus shifts the truck into drive, and it groans. I half expect it to stay still when he presses the gas pedal, but it moves. From what I remember, it takes about an hour to drive from the Abnegation sector to Amity headquarters, and the trip requires a skilled driver. Marcus pulls onto one of the main thoroughfares and pushes his foot into the gas pedal. We lurch forward, narrowly avoiding a gaping hole in the road. I grab the dashboard to steady myself. “Relax, Beatrice,” says Marcus. “I’ve driven a car before.” “I’ve done a lot of things before, but that doesn’t mean I’m any good at them!” Marcus smiles and jerks the truck to the left so that we don’t hit a fallen stoplight. Christina whoops as we bump over another piece of debris, like she’s having the time of her life. “A different kind of stupid, right?” she says, her voice loud enough to be heard over the rush of wind through the cab. I clutch the seat beneath me and try not to think of what I ate for dinner.

He also inherited my mother’s talent for selflessness. He gave his seat to a surly Candor man on the bus without a second thought. The Candor man wears a black suit with a white tie—Candor standard uniform. Their faction values honesty and sees the truth as black and white, so that is what they wear. The gaps between the buildings narrow and the roads are smoother as we near the heart of the city. The building that was once called the Sears Tower—we call it the Hub—emerges from the fog, a black pillar in the skyline. The bus passes under the elevated tracks. I have never been on a train, though they never stop running and there are tracks everywhere. Only the Dauntless ride them. Five years ago, volunteer construction workers from Abnegation repaved some of the roads. They started in the middle of the city and worked their way outward until they ran out of materials. The roads where I live are still cracked and patchy, and it’s not safe to drive on them. We don’t have a car anyway. Caleb’s expression is placid as the bus sways and jolts on the road.

I shall be telling this with a sigh – somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” Robert Frost

Five years ago, volunteer construction workers from Abnegation repaved some of the roads. They started in the middle of the city and worked their way outward until they ran out of materials. The roads where I live are still cracked and patchy, and it’s not safe to drive on them. We don’t have a car anyway.

Caleb’s expression is placid as the bus sways and jolts on the road. The gray robe falls from his arm as he clutches a pole for balance. I can tell by the constant shift of his eyes that he is watching the people around us—striving to see only them and to forget himself. Candor values honesty, but our faction, Abnegation, values selflessness.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—                               I took the road less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. —ROBERT FROST

Why? Why indeed. It was a sticky, impossible question and I didn't know how to answer it. How far back did I have to go to find the place where our roads diverged? How could I explain that sometimes a thousand little things added up to something so big it had the power to crush a relationship.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. And

Nobody will walk the entire journey with you. Their roads do diverge, so does yours.

But there are too many galaxies out there. There are too many fractures, too many splinters, too many moments where the roads diverged and the manifestations of our choices split into ten thousand alternate lives. There are enough what-ifs out there for me to get lost in forever, and I don’t want to spend my time chasing our cosmos anymore.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in the wood and I- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

The road along which a young man discovers what he is capable of is no midwestern interstate. It has no uninterrupted views to the horizon, no painted white lines, no brightly lit signs indicating the distance to one's destination. Rather, it is a narrow and winding byway crowded with undergrowth and overhung with branches. Along his journey, the young man is presented with sudden intersections, divergent footpaths, and fateful detours, each of which, if taken, will lead him to other byways with their own intersections, footpaths, and detours. So intricate are the paths and so wooded the way, at any given point it is almost impossible for a young man to see from whence he's come, never mind to where he's headed.

Incompatibility was a divergence in Robert Frost’s forest full of roads, wasn’t it.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference .

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – / I took the one less travelled by, / And that has made all the difference . . .

Do the two girls run around together?" "I think not. I think they go their separate and slightly divergent roads to perdition. Vivian is spoiled, exacting, smart and quite ruthless. Carmen is a child who likes to pull wings off flies. Neither of them has any more moral sense than

Do the two girls run around together?" "I think not. I think they go their separate and slightly divergent roads to perdition. Vivian is spoiled, exacting, smart and quite ruthless. Carmen is a child who likes to pull wings off flies. Neither of them has any more moral sense than a cat. Neither have I. No Sternwood ever had. Proceed.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – / I took the one less travelled by, / And that has made all the difference . . .’ ‘What if there are more than two roads diverging in the wood? What if there are more roads than trees? What if there is no end to the choices you could make? What would Robert Frost do then?

Two roads diverged in a wood and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference," from "The Road Not Taken, published in 1916.

They are lives you could live but never dreamed of.’ ‘So they’re unhappy lives?’ ‘Some will be, some won’t be. It’s just they are not the most obvious lives. They are ones which might require a little imagination to reach. But I am sure you can get there . . .’ ‘Can’t you guide me?’ Mrs Elm smiled. ‘I could read you a poem. Librarians like poems.’ And then she quoted Robert Frost. ‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – / I took the one less travelled by, / And that has made all the difference .

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. —Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - / I took the one less travelled by, / And that has made all the difference…

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference.