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

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

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

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!

Men are generally more pleased with a widespread than with a great reputation.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.