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.
These famous final lines are often quoted as presenting a stark choice between originality and conformity, boldness and timidity. As the poem’s context makes clear, though, the situation isn’t that simple: the paths are “really about the same,” with one only slightly less traveled than the other. There’s risk and  opportunity cost  involved in taking either. 
 However, although the paths were similar, he imagines himself later telling people that he made a monumental decision. (By taking the perceived “less traveled” path, he believes he’s committed himself to more risk ⁠— but also more potential reward.) The poem is in part about randomness and the meaning we attempt to force onto our lives in our desire to see ourselves as masters of our fate. 
 In the last line of the poem, “And that has made all the difference,” does the narrator mean this in a positive way, or negative? Was it a good difference, or not so good? 
 Finally, if this poem is read aloud in performance, the last line sounds colloquial; everyday speech. It seems to be addressed personally and teasingly to the reader/listener, as if deliberately provoking a misinterpretation. 

The Road Not Taken