There are betrayals of war that are childlike compared to our human betrayals during peace. The new lover enters the habits of the other. Things are smashed, revealed in new light. This is done with nervous or tender sentences, although the heart is an organ of fire.
A love story is not about those who lose their heart but about those who find that sullen inhabitant who, when it is stumbled upon, means the body can fool no one, can fool nothing–not the wisdom of sleep or the habit of social graces. It is a consuming of oneself and the past.The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje