I saw an old man the other day sitting upon a sagging porch, on his rocker, moving it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  Barely audible, as I passed by intrigued by him, he murmured as if to himself this musing:
"I sho cain't remember regretting never sinnin', but Lawdy, yes, Lawdy, I sho do regret a'plenty o'time for doin' so. It be what I regret in de ol' age of my life - my sinnin' be a scribblin' over de Image, over de souls de good Lawd done give us.  Uh huh, de good Lawd done give us. Mmhm."
And so, he said no more, only rocked in silence.