How is it that Hamsun, who marketed himself as a "modern author" through depictions of modern division and the sensitive human mind in the 1890s, ended up becoming a critic of everything modern, from democracy to lipstick?

I am fat with honor and wealth tonight – yes, but I lack the most important thing, the only thing, I lack youth. Whatever I should now – whatever suits me best – I empty my glass for all youth, for the youth of Sweden, for all youth! (From the speech at the Nobel Prize banquet, 1920)

From the moment Hamsun appeared on the literary scene around 1890, he was concerned with the complex and sensitive spiritual life of modern man.

Right now a new and hopeful generation is swirling up from the underground. It is so newly born and innocent, I read about it, but I don't know its name, it could be the same. It is like wandering lights all gathered together, they come, shine a little and disappear. Coming and going, as I came and went. (On Overgrown Paths, 1949)

Childhood and youth: But it was the children in all sorts of blue and red and yellow and black and gray clothes that dominated. There were perhaps twenty of them, beautiful children, mostly little girls, some of them big and already in love, they walked with the big boys. A daughter of the pharmacist was surrounded, she sat on a box and had a reception. (Ringen sulttet, 1936)

The Orientals seem to me to stand high in ethical wisdom. They were from ancient times the happy possessors of contentment with life, they smiled at the restless antics of the Occidentals and bowed their heads in contemplative calm, they had enough of their own. ("Festina lente", 1928)

Thus, the small town also has its greats, its solid houses with fine sons and daughters, its constancy and authority. And the small town is concerned with its greats and follows them with interest, the good small town people basically look after their own well-being thereby, they live under the shelter of power and thrive under it, that is how it should be. (The Women at the Fountain, 1920)

He knew he had his large congregation in the city, Kristiania could not exist without him, there he was in his element! What importance did it have then that a couple of Trøndere or a handful of Totninger resigned from his magazine? Other readers came instead, people whose innermost political opinions he had just affected by his changed attitude. Yes, he had weathered bigger storms. And he questioned Leporello daily about the city's attitude to the issues: But what does the city think? What do they say in Grand? (Editor Lynge, 1893)

God is forgotten, the dollar proves powerless to replace him, mechanics do not relieve any spiritual distress. The road is closed. Under these conditions, America only increases its speed. America will not be stopped by obstacles at all, it will move forward, it will break through. Should America turn back? Not at all! It only accelerates a hundredfold, plays hurricane on the globe and chases life to white heat. We have the word Americanism in Europe, the ancients had festina lente. ("Festina lente", 1928)

I will remember that I once went to the altar in church. It was when I was confirmed. The priest put something in my mouth, and afterwards he let me sip a glass. There were many people around who were looking at it, but they held back and did not smile. Why remember this now? I have no use for it and there is no wisdom in it. It just carries me away because I am happy and excited. I think it is called Hugskott. (On Overgrown Paths, 1949)

Yes, we are vagabonds on earth. We wander the roads and howl, sometimes we crawl, sometimes we walk upright and trample each other down. (Landstrykere, 1927)

I remember from my childhood in Nordland a lonely night, it was a quiet summer night in the sun. I came rowing in a boat, but I didn't row, I was limping and sitting with my face turned forward in the boat. Every seabird was silent and there was nothing living to be seen on land. Then a head appeared from the shiny water, the water filtered off it. It was probably a seal, but it was like a being from another world, it lay looking at me with open eyes and pondering. Its gaze was like a human's... (In Wonderland, 1903)

Life should be treated like a woman. Shouldn't one be gallant towards life and let her win over one? One should give in and give in and leave all treasures behind. (Rosa, 1908)

[Wergeland] did not become an old man who sat and made himself disgusting to his surroundings in his old age. It was a gift to him from the gods, a grace to him from the gods. And neither did he slide down to the relaxation in his production that might lead to a St. Olav or some other fine recognition, at least he did not live old enough for that; no, he died young. (“Wergeland”, speech on Henrik Wergeland’s centenary, 17 June 1908)

He was young and unfamiliar with his sudden helplessness, he sat mostly still, and when he had to move around the room he helped himself with his hands and threw himself from chair to chair. He was busy thinking up a new lifestyle, it was a strange occupation for the born sailor, and sometimes he even stopped in astonishment.

Now one might think that Abel had a dangerously large family right from the start, wife, parents, two sisters and grandmother, it may have been difficult in the first weeks after the wedding, but Abel and the steam hammer worked well, and his father also helped out in the forge, he had the most powerful upper body and was especially a machine for filing. It went really well. (The Women at the Watermill, 1920)

Bjørnson was aware of his impermanence: Time takes it! Do the rest of us have anything we should have said! For my own part, I sit and take notes and jot down notes about a burned-down wooden villa and think about this affair. Away at the nearest farm, a small dog runs back and forth, and I see that it barks at me, but it does not disturb me. I have peace, my mind is clear and my conscience is free.

Let's play with Vaar over the Earth!

And into the great Music of Nature

a Sound murmurs from my Heart,

A Thank You for every Spring I got.

Love is God's first word, the first thought that sailed through his brain. When he said: Let there be light! it became love. And everything he had created was very good and he would have left nothing undone. And love became the origin of the world and the ruler of the world; but all its paths are full of flowers and blood, flowers and blood.

He had to rehabilitate himself by deception; when he pretended that he was like others, that he was commensurable, the poor man had to use his own standard and persuade himself to believe it. He might have had his little happiness in this, at least he had no other. All art then? All art. But not a bad work of art. (The Women at the Water Fountain, 1920)