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

I would much rather have men ask why I have no statue than why I have one.

And what will history say of me a thousand years hence?

There lurks in every human heart a desire of distinction which inclines every man first to hope and then to believe that nature has given him something peculiar to himself. 

He who treats another human being as divine thereby assigns to himself the relative status of a child or an animal.

Reality is always the foe of famous names.

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

When I do a show, the whole show revolves around me, and if I don’t show up, they can just forget it.

Now there is fame! Of all—hunger, misery, the incomprehension by the public—fame is by far the worst. It is the castigation by God of the artist. It is sad. It is true.

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

Famous, adj. Conspicuously miserable.

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.

Wood burns because it has the proper stuff in it, and a man becomes famous because he has the proper stuff in him.