She was the raw material of a divinity. On Olympus she would have done well with a little preparation. She had the passions and instincts which make a model goddess, that is, those which make not quite a model woman. She had pagan eyes, full of nocturnal mysteries, and their light, as it came and went, and came again, was partially hampered by their oppressive lids and lashes... Assuming that the souls of men and women were visible essences, you could fancy the colour of her soul to be flamelike. The sparks from it that rose into her dark pupils gave the same impression. To be loved to madness-such was her great desire. Love was to her the one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days. She seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover..
exerpt from Thomas Hardy's Return of the Native. This isn't really a sketch of Eustasia Vye, but I am MADLY in love with the description Hardy wrote of her in that chapter. My favorite passage in English prose literature.