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

There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.

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

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.

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

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

All people have the common desire to be elevated in honor, but all people have something still more elevated in themselves without knowing it.

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

They are trying to make me into a fixed star. I am an irregular planet.

Avoid the talk of men. For talk is mischievous, light, and easily raised, but hard to bear and difficult to be rid of. Talk never wholly dies away when many people voice her: even talk is in some ways divine.

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.

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

Most authors seek fame, but I seek for justice—a holier impulse than ever entered into the ambitious struggles of the votaries of that fickle, flirting goddess.