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

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

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

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. 

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.

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

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

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.

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

Famous, adj. Conspicuously miserable.

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

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.

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.