Imagination is strong in a man when that particular function of the brain which enables him to observe is roused to activity without any necessary excitement of the senses.  Accordingly, we find that imagination is active just in proportion as our senses are not excited by external objects.  A long period of solitude, whether in prison or in a sick room; quiet, twilight, darkness—­these are the things that promote its activity; and under their influence it comes into play of itself.  On the other hand, when a great deal of material is presented to our faculties of observation, as happens on a journey, or in the hurly-burly of the world, or, again, in broad daylight, the imagination is idle, and, even though call may be made upon it, refuses to become active, as though it understood that that was not its proper time.

However, if the imagination is to yield any real product, it must have received a great deal of material from the external world.  This is the only way in which its storehouse can be filled.  The phantasy is nourished much in the same way as the body, which is least capable of any work and enjoys doing nothing just in the very moment when it receives its food which it has to digest.  And yet it is to this very food that it owes the power which it afterwards puts forth at the right time.

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Opinion is like a pendulum and obeys the same law.  If it goes past the centre of gravity on one side, it must go a like distance on the other; and it is only after a certain time that it finds the true point at which it can remain at rest.

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By a process of contradiction, distance in space makes things look small, and therefore free from defect.  This is why a landscape looks so much better in a contracting mirror or in a camera obscura, than it is in reality.  The same effect is produced by distance in time.  The scenes and events of long ago, and the persons who took part in them, wear a charming aspect to the eye of memory, which sees only the outlines and takes no note of disagreeable details.  The present enjoys no such advantage, and so it always seems defective.

And again, as regards space, small objects close to us look big, and if they are very close, we may be able to see nothing else, but when we go a little way off, they become minute and invisible.  It is the same again as regards time.  The little incidents and accidents of every day fill us with emotion, anxiety, annoyance, passion, as long as they are close to us, when they appear so big, so important, so serious; but as soon as they are borne down the restless stream of time, they lose what significance they had; we think no more of them and soon forget them altogether.  They were big only because they were near.

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