Umberto Eco Quotes

“When men stop believing in God, it isn't that they then believe in nothing: they believe in everything.”
― Umberto Eco

“ كان رجال العهود الغابرة وسيمي الطلعة طويلي القامة و الآن أصبحوا أطفالاً و أقزاماً وليس هذا إلا دليلاً من جملة أدلة أخرى كثيرة تشهد بتعاسة عالم يسير نحو الهرم”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“American coffee can be a pale solution served at a temperature of 100
degrees centigrade in plastic thermos cups, usually obligatory in railroad
stations for purposes of genocide, whereas coffee made with an American
percolator, such as you find in private houses or in humble luncheonettes,
served with eggs and bacon, is delicious, fragrant, goes down like pure
spring water, and afterwards causes severe palpitations, because one cup
contains more caffeine than four espressos.”
― Umberto Eco, How to Travel With a Salmon & Other Essays

“El mundo está lleno de libros preciosos que nadie lee”
"The world is full of precious books that nobody reads”
― Eco Umberto

“عندما يخطئ الراعي ينبغي إبعاده عن بقية الرعاة ، ولكن الويل إذا ما أخذت النعاج ترتاب في الرعاة”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“You cannot change the world with ideas. People with few ideas are less likely to make mistakes; they follow what everyone else does and are no trouble to anyone; they're successful, make money, find good jobs, enter politics, receive honours; they become famous writers, academics, journalists. Can anyone who is so good at looking after their own interests really be stupid? I'm the stupid one, the one who wanted to go tilting at windmills.”
― Umberto Eco , The Prague Cemetery

“Dios ha muerto, el arte dejó de existir, la historia ha llegado a su fin, y yo mismo no me siento del todo bien.”
― Umberto Eco

“Hoy no salir en televisión es un signo de elegancia.”
― Umberto Eco

“Dostoevsky was writing about losers. The main character of The Iliad, Hector, is a loser. It’s very boring to talk about winners. The real literature always talks about losers. Madame Bovary is a loser. Julien Sorel is a loser. I am doing only the same job. Losers are more fascinating. Winners are stupid … because usually they win by chance”
― Umberto Eco

“Where is all my wisdom, then? I behaved stubbornly, pursuing a semblance of order, when I should have known well that there is no order in the universe.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“Nothing is more fleeting than external form, which withers and altars like the flowers of the field at the appearance of autumn”
― Umberto Eco

“Oysa şimdi, dünyanın zararsız bir bilmece olduğunu, ardında bir gerçek varmış gibi onu açıklamaya kalkışma çılgınlığımızın onu korkunçlaştırdığına inanıyorum.”
― Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

“Rzeczywiście, często się zdarza, że idzie się do biblioteki, bo chce się książkę o znanym tytule, ale główną funkcją biblioteki, a przynajmniej funkcją biblioteki w moim domu i w domach wszystkich znajomych, jakich możemy odwiedzać, jest odkrywanie książek, których istnienia się nie podejrzewało, a które, jak się okazuje, są dla nas niezwykle ważne.”
― Umberto Eco, O bibliotece

“Variante. Tu sei un autore, non sai ancora quanto grande, colei che amavi ti ha tradito, la vita per te non ha più senso e un giorno, per dimenticare, fai un viaggio sul Titanic e naufraghi nei mari del sud, ti raccoglie (unico superstite) una piroga di indigeni e passi lunghi anni ignorato da tutti, su di un'isola abitata solo da papuasi, con le ragazze che ti cantano canzoni di intenso languore, agitando i seni appena coperti dalla collana di fiori di pua. Cominci ad abituarti, ti chiamano Jim, come fanno coi bianchi, una ragazza dalla pelle ambrata ti si introduce una sera nella capanna e ti dice: "Io tua, io con te." In fondo è bello, la sera, stare sdraiato sulla veranda a guardare la Croce del Sud mentre lei ti accarezza la fronte.
Vivi secondo il ciclo delle albe e dei tramonti, e non sai d'altro. Un giorno arriva una barca a motore con degli olandesi, apprendi che sono passati dieci anni, potresti andare via con loro, ma esiti, preferisci scambiare noci di cocco con derrate, prometti che potresti occuparti della raccolta della canapa, gli indigeni lavorano per te, tu cominci a navigare da isolotto a isolotto, sei diventato per tutti Jim della Canapa. Un avventuriero portoghese rovinato dall'alcool viene a lavorare con te e si redime, tutti parlano ormai di te in quei mari della Sonda, dai consigli al marajà di Brunei per una campagna contro i dajaki del fiume, riesci a riattivare un vecchio cannone dei tempi di Tippo Sahib, caricato a chiodaglia, alleni una squadra di malesi devoti, coi denti anneriti dal betel in uno scontro presso la Barriera Corallina il vecchio Sampan, i denti anneriti dal betel, ti fa scudo col proprio corpo - Sono contento di morire per te, Jim della Canapa. - Vecchio, vecchio Sampan, amico mio.
Ormai sei famoso in tutto l'arcipelago tra Sumatra e Port-au-Prince, tratti con gli inglesi, alla capitaneria del di Darwin sei registrato come Kurtz, e ormai sei Kurtz per tutti - Jim della Canapa per gli indigeni. Ma una sera, mentre la ragazza ti accarezza sulla veranda e la Croce del Sud sfavilla come non mai, ahi quanto, diversa dall'Orsa, tu capisci: vorresti tornare. Solo per poco, per vedere che cosa sia rimasto di te, laggiù.
Prendi la barca a motore, raggiungi Manila, di là un aereo a elica ti porta a Bali. Poi Samoa, Isole dell'Ammiragliato, Singapore, Tananarive, Timbuctu, Aleppo, Samarcanda, Bassora, Malta e sei a casa.
Sono passati diciott'anni, la vita ti ha segnato, il viso è abbronzato dagli alisei, sei più vecchio, forse più bello. Ed ecco che appena arrivato scopri che le librerie ostentano tutti i tuoi libri, in riedizioni critiche, c'è il tuo nome sul frontone della vecchia scuola dove hai imparato a leggere e a scrivere. Sei il Grande Poeta Scomparso, la coscienza della generazione. Fanciulle romantiche si uccidono sulla tua tomba vuota.
E poi incontro te, amore, con tante rughe intorno agli occhi, e il volto ancora bello che si strugge di ricordo, e tenero rimorso. Quasi ti ho sfiorata sul marciapiede, sono là a due passi, e tu mi hai guardato come guardi tutti, cercando un altro oltre la loro ombra. Potrei parlare, cancellare il tempo. Ma a che scopo? Non ho già avuto quello che volevo? Io sono Dio, la stessa solitudine, la stessa vanagloria, la stessa disperazione per non essere una delle mie creature come tutti. Tutti che vivono nella mia luce e io che vivo nello scintillio insopportabile della mia tenebra.”
― Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

“Adiós muñeca, ha sido muy hermoso, pero eras un autómata sin alma.”
― Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

“Her ne olursa olsun, kurmaca yapıtlar okumaktan vazgeçmeyeceğiz, çünkü onlarda yaşamımıza bir anlam verecek formülü aramaktayız. Sonuçta, yaşamımız süresince, bize neden dünyaya geldiğimizi ve yaşadığımızı söyleyecek bir ilk öykünün arayışı içindeyiz. Kimi zaman kozmik bir öykü arıyoruz, evrenin öyküsünü, kimi zaman kendi bireysel öykümüzü. Kimi zaman da kendi bireysel öykümüzü evrenin öyküsüyle çakıştırmayı umuyoruz.”
― Umberto Eco, Six Walks in the Fictional Woods

“In the past men were handsome and great (now they are children and dwarfs), but this is merely one of the many facts that demonstrate the disaster of an aging world. The young no longer want to study anything, learning is in decline, the whole world walks on its head, blind men lead others equally blind and cause them to plunge into the abyss, birds leave the nest before they can fly, the jackass plays the lyre, oxen dance.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“I now wonder whether what I felt was the love of friendship, in which like loves like and wants only the other's good, or love of concupiscence, in which one wants one's own good and the lacking wants only what completes it.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“...love can harm the lover when it is excessive.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“Jusqu'alors j'avais pensé que chaque livre parlait des choses, humaines ou divines, qui se trouvent hors des livres. Or je m'apercevais que qu'il n'est pas rare que les livres parlent de livres, autrement dit, qu'ils parlent entre eux. À la lumière de cette réflexion, la bibliothèque m'apparut encore plus inquiétante. Elle était donc le lieu d'un long et séculaire murmure, d'un dialogue imperceptible entre parchemin et parchemin, une chose vivante, un réceptacle de puissances qu'un esprit humain ne pouvait dominer, trésor de secrets émanés de tant d'esprits, et survivant après la mort de ceux qui les avaient produits, ou s'en étaient faits les messagers.
Le Nom de la rose de Umberto Eco.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“Whatever the rhythm was, luck rewarded us, because, wanting connections, we found connections — always, everywhere, and between everything. The world exploded in a whirling network of kinships, where everything pointed to everything else, everything explained everything else…”
― Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

“Il sonno diurno è come il peccato della carne: più se ne è avuto più se ne vorrebbe, eppure ci si sente infelici, sazi e insaziati allo stesso tempo.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“The good of a book lies in its being read. A book is made up of signs that speak of other signs, which in their turn speak of things. Without an eye to read them, a book contains signs that produce no concepts; therefore it is dumb.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“Text is like a musical score. It is true that Anna Karenina commits suicide in the same sense that is true that Beethoven's Fifth Symphony is in C minor (and not in F major, like the Sixth) and begins with G,G,G,E-flat.”
― Umberto Eco, On Literature

“[Adso, experiencing a divine allegorical vision] I saw a voluptuous woman, naked and fleshless, gnawed by foul toads, sucked by serpents, coupled with a fat-bellied satyr whose gryphon legs were covered with wiry hairs, howling its own damnation from an obscene throat; and I saw a miser, stiff in the stiffness of death on his sumptuously columned bed, now helpless prey of a cohort of demons, one of whom tore from the dying man's mouth his soul in the form of an infant (alas, never to be again born to eternal life); and I saw a proud man with a devil clinging to his shoulders and thrusting his claws into the man's eyes, while two gluttons tore each other apart in a repulsive hand-to-hand struggle, and other creatures as well, goat head and lion fur, panther's jaws, all prisoners in a forest of flames whose searing breath I could almost feel.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“If it is true that, as Umberto Eco put it, social media gives a voice to legions of idiots, I’m afraid A.I. will further worsen the situation – we’ll have plenty of idiots to the nth degree who think they are geniuses.”
― S.R. Piccoli

“The abundance of windows meant that the great room was cheered by a constant diffused light, even on a winter afternoon. The panes were not colored like church windows, and the lead-framed squares of clear glass allowed the light to enter in the purest possible fashion, not modulated by human art, and thus to serve its purpose, which was to illuminate the work of reading and writing. I have seen at other times and in other places many scriptoria, but none where there shone so luminously, in the outpouring, of physical light which made the room glow, the spiritual principle that light incarnates, radiance, source of all beauty and learning, inseparable attribute of that proportion the room embodied. For three things concur in creating beauty: first of all integrity or perfection, and for this reason we consider ugly all incomplete things; then proper proportion or consonance; and finally clarity and light, and in fact we call beautiful those things of definite color. And since the sight of the beautiful implies peace, and since our appetite is calmed similarly by peacefulness, by the good, and by the beautiful, I felt myself filled with a great consolation and I thought how pleasant it must be to work in that place.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“I suffered from an absence, though I was happy with the many ghosts of a presence.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

“Eco's emphasis is a productivist one: his view of sign production, and especially of the mode he calls invention, associating it with art and creativity, is from the perspective of the maker, the speaker, the artist, the producer of signs. But what about the woman? She has no access to the codes of the invisible city which represents her and absents her; she is not in the place of Eco's "subject of semiosis"-homo faber, the city builder, the producer of signs. Nor is she in the repre­sentation which inscribes her as absent. The woman cannot transform the codes; she can only transgress them, make trouble, provoke, per­vert, turn the representation into a trap ("this ugly city, this trap"). For semiotics too, finally, the founding tale remains the same. Though now the place of the female subject in language, in discourse, and in the social may be understood another way, it is an equally impossible position. She now finds herself in the empty space between the signs, in a void of meaning, where no demand is possible and no code available; or, going back to the cinema, she finds herself in the place of the female spectator, between the look of the camera (the masculine representation) and the image on the screen (the specular fixity of the feminine representation), not one or the other but both and neither.”
― Teresa de Lauretis, Alice Doesn't: Feminism, Semiotics, Cinema

“...and it is characteristic of the young to become bound to an older and wiser man not only by the spell of his words and the sharpness of his mind, but also by the superficial form of his body, which proves very dear, like the figure of a father, whose gestures we study and whose frowns, whose smile we observe—without a shadow of lust to pollute this form (perhaps the only that is truly pure) of corporal love.”
― Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose