Imagination (n.) was the unknowing meeting-place of the shattered but insistent continuity of nature with the empty but attentive continuity of consciousness.
Imagination (n.) has an original innocence: it neither denies nor affirms, it only contemplates; error belongs to the mind that judges the image.
Imagination (n.) is not madness: waking and saying "I am imagining I am dead" is sane; madness begins only when the image "I am dead" is affirmed as true.
Imagination (n.) is only the other side of its own defect: it restores order because it keeps us from seeing things truly, the locus both of error and of truth, the stigma of finitude.
Imagination (n.) is what makes resemblance possible: without the power to make a past impression present again, change would pass before us in perpetual monotony and nothing would ever seem alike — or even different.