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.

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

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

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

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

Famous, adj. Conspicuously miserable.

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.

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

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

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!

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.

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