You solve it as you get older, when you reach the point where you've tasted so much that you can somehow sacrifice certain things more easily, and you have a more tolerant view of things like possessiveness (your own) and a broader acceptance of the pains and the losses.

And as if reporting some felony to the police they let you know you were not John Donne.

One day God felt he ought to give his workshop a spring clean... It was amazing what ragged bits and pieces came from under his workbench as he swept. Beginnings of creatures, bits that looked useful but had seemed wrong, ideas he'd mislaid and forgotten... There was even a tiny lump of sun. He scratched his head. What could be done with all this rubbish?

You are who you choose to be.

The progress of any writer is marked by those moments when he manages to outwit his own inner police system.

What happens in the heart simply happens.

There is no better way to know us Than as two wolves, come separately to a wood.