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

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

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

A woman’s greatest glory is to be little talked about by men, whether for good or ill.

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.

Reality is always the foe of famous names.

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

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.

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

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.

Fame is but the empty noise of madmen.

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.

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