An intellectual is going to have doubts, for example, about a fundamentalist religious doctrine that admits no doubt, about an imposed political system that allows no doubt, about a perfect aesthetic that has no room for doubt.

As a writer, I’ve always been interested in others.

But democracy isn’t a state of perfection. It has to be improved, and that means constant vigilance.

But I don’t think I have any particular talent for prediction, because when you have three or four elements in hand, you don’t have to be a genius to reach certain conclusions.

Doubts are like stains on a shirt. I like shirts with stains, because when I’m given a shirt that’s too clean, one that’s completely white, I immediately start having doubts.

Eco sees the intellectual as an organizer of culture, someone who can run a magazine or a museum. An administrator, in fact. I think this is a melancholy situation for an intellectual.

Fifty years after half a million gypsies were exterminated in the Second World War – thousands of them in Auschwitz – we’re again preparing the mass killing of this minority.

I claim the right to take a stand once in a while.

I don’t go for people who lead full and satisfying lives.

I don’t have any doubts either about the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Perhaps some more should be added to the list, but I don’t have the slightest doubt about human rights.

I don’t know whether these people are going to find themselves, but as they live their lives they have no choice but to face up to the image others have of them. They’re forced to look at themselves in a mirror, and they often manage to glimpse something of themselves.

I don’t want to promote my own image either. I don’t like going on television or mixing in literary circles.

I live quietly at home among my family and friends.

I prefer insomnia to anaesthesia.

I vividly remember the stories my grandfather told me about the carnage of the First World War, which people tend to forget was one of the worst massacres in human history.

I was born in the Second World War during the Nazi invasion of my country.

In a novel, my feelings and sense of outrage can find a broader means of expression which would be more symbolic and applicable to many European countries.

It’s the job of intellectuals and writers to cast doubt on perfection.

It’s very useful when politicians have doubts because there are so many choices to be made in the world.

I’ve always been drawn to tormented people full of contradictions.

Literature for me isn’t a workaday job, but something which involves desires, dreams and fantasy.

Literature is my life of course, but from an ontological point of view. From an existential point of view, I like being a teacher.

My books are about losers, about people who’ve lost their way and are engaged in a search.

My job is to look at what politics is doing, not be a politician myself.

No, I’m happy to go on living the life I’ve chosen. I’m a university teacher and I like my job.

People with lots of doubts sometimes find life more oppressive and exhausting than others, but they’re more energetic – they aren’t robots.

Perfection spawns doctrines, dictators and totalitarian ideas.

The most important basis of any novel is wanting to be someone else, and this means creating a character.

The salt of any interesting civilization is mixture.

There are some fundamental values it’s impossible to be wrong about.

We all want to be someone else but without ceasing to be ourselves. I think it’s very important to defend this idea in real life too.

When you have a foreign invasion – in this case by the Indonesian army – writers, intellectuals, newspapers and magazines are the first targets of repression.

Xenophobia manifests itself especially against civilizations and cultures that are weak because they lack economic resources, means of subsistence or land. So nomadic people are the first targets of this kind of aggression.