She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too brightly for this world. - Emily Brontë

She burned too bright for this world.

Nunca le declaré abiertamente mi amor, pero si las miradas hablan, el más tonto habría podido advertir que me tenía trastornado el juicio.

She started writing notes and keeping them under her pillow, and then she started writing them on her pillowcase, hoping they would help her have better dreams. And if she couldn’t sleep, she could just read them and be reminded of something so stunningly beautiful that her heart would swell and her bones would sigh and for just a second, the world would not seem like it was going to crush her.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory’s rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?