time passes in moments; moments which rushing past, define the path of a life just as surely as they lead toward its end. How rarely do we stop to examine that path, to see the reason why all things happen; to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making, or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed? But what if we could stop, pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes? Might we then see the endless forks in a road that have shaped a life, and, seeing those choices, choose another path? - scully, "all things"