The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje

Paris. Morning. Hotel. I am leaning on my elbows over the last lines of this book.

The final curtain is closing on the Second World War, and Hana, a nurse, stays behind in an abandoned Italian villa to tend to her only remaining patient. Rescued by Bedouins from a burning plane, he is English, anonymous, damaged beyond recognition and haunted by his memories of passion and betrayal. The only clue Hana has to his past is the one thing he clung on to through  the fire - a copy of The Histories by Herodotus, covered with hand - written notes describing a painful and ultimately tragic love affair.

There are many excerpts I liked in this book, marked by colorful post - it notes. Some I loved.

- What do you hate most? he asks.
- A lie. And you?
- Ownership, he says. When you leave me forget me.
Her fist swings towards him and hits hard into the bone just below his eye. She dresses and leaves.

- Madox, what is the name of that hollow at the base of a woman's neck? At the front. Here. What is it, does it have an official name? That hollow about the size of an impress of your thumb?
Madox watches me for a moment through the noon glare.
- Pull yourself together, he mutters.

I just want you to know. I don't miss you yet.

...as if awakening from sleep with a heaviness  caused by unremembered dreams.

I am a man who fasts until I see what I want.

9.5