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

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

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!

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.

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.

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

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.

We all have a contract with the public—in us they see themselves, or what they would like to be.

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

Fame is but the empty noise of madmen.

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

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

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