When I go out by the gateway, taking the road I drove along that first time I picked up Lott for the ball, how very different it all is! It is all over, all of it! There is not a hint of the world that once was, not one pulse-beat of those past emotions. I feel like a ghost returning to the burnt-out ruins of the castle he built in his prime as a prince, which he adorned with magnificent splendors and then, on his deathbed, but full of hope, left to his beloved son

The Sorrows of Young Werther