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

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

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

Fame is but the empty noise of madmen.

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

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.

Those who know the joys and miseries of celebrities when they have passed the age of forty know how to defend themselves.

Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, now that, and changes names as it changes in direction.

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. 

Famous, adj. Conspicuously miserable.

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

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.

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