"Knut Hamsun"の名言

Truth is neither ojectivity nor the balanced view; truth is a selfless subjectivity.

The poet must always, in every instance, have the vibrant word... that by it's trenchancy can so wound my soul that it whimpers.... One must know and recognize not merely the direct but the secret power of the word; one must be able to give one's writing unexpected effects. It must have a hectic, anguished vehemence, so that it rushes past like a gust of air, and it must have a latent, roistering tenderness so that it creeps and steals one's mind; it must be able to ring out like a sea-shanty in a tremendous hour, in the time of the tempest, and it must be able to sigh like one who, in tearful mood, sobs in his inmost heart.

I can't even make up a rhyme about an umbrella, let alone death and life and eternal peace.

It was not my intention to collapse; no, I would die standing.

But what really matters is not what you believe but the faith and conviction with which you believe…

Det var en glad Dag før ham, han hadde ikke rikere Glæder end naar han kunde gjøre godt på denne Maate og hævde Lærdommens og Bokens Overlegenhet, det var hans Levebrød og hans Lidenskap. En Lidenskap skal Mennesket ha, somme trodser Ild og Vand for at faa bøie Verber.

No worse fate can befall a young man or woman than becoming prematurely entrenched in prudence and negation.

No, what I should really like to do right now, in the full blaze of lights, before this illustrious assembly, is to shower every one of you with gifts, with flowers, with offerings of poetry - to be young once more, to ride on the crest of the wave.

Today riches and honours have been lavished on me, but one gift has been lacking, the most important one of all, the only one that matters, the gift of youth.

There is nothing like being left alone again, to walk peacefully with oneself in the woods. To boil one's coffee and fill one's pipe, and to think idly and slowly as one does it.

For I mean to roam and think and make great irons red-hot.

Were I more conversant with literature and its great names, I could go on quoting them ad infinitum and acknowledge my debt for the merit you have been generous enough to find in my work.

You are welcome to your intellectual pastimes and books and art and newspapers; welcome, too, to your bars and your whisky that only makes me ill. Here am I in the forest, quite content.