What a heavy burden is a name that has become too famous.

Fame will go by and, so long, I’ve had you, fame. If it goes by, I’ve always known it was fickle. So at least it’s something I experienced, but that’s not where I live.

What is popularly called fame is nothing but an empty name and a legacy from paganism.

Happy is the man who hath never known what it is to taste of fame—to have it is a purgatory, to want it is a hell!

I’m afraid of losing my obscurity. Genuineness only thrives in the dark. Like celery.

Men are generally more pleased with a widespread than with a great reputation.

How sweet it is to have people point and say, “There he is.”

I won’t be happy till I’m as famous as God.

I am sick and tired of publicity. I want no more of it. It puts me in a bad light. I just want to be forgotten.

Possessions, outward success, publicity, luxury—to me these have always been contemptible. I believe that a simple and unassuming manner of life is best for everyone, best both for the body and the mind.

Being a star has made it possible for me to get insulted in places where the average Negro could never hope to go and get insulted.

Reality is always the foe of famous names.

Fame is no sanctuary from the passing of youth. Suicide is much easier and more acceptable in Hollywood than growing old gracefully.