This was the romantic masterpiece of its time, definitely. It’s got every ingredient – drama, romance, tragedy – to blow up Germany’s rationalism. I can assure you, if it weren’t for the author’s capacity of portraying Werther, I wouldn’t be able to feel sorry for him. Most of the time, I felt like shaking him and beg him to wake up from that delusional slumber. It's only upon finishing that I realized how Goethe managed to draw me completely into the concerns and beliefs of one character in such an extraordinary way. Although his obsession lead to personal emptiness and thus destroyed him, I can only admit that lovers will always dwell on an uncertain path. And that’s just how a beautiful classic is written.