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.

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

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

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

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

If fame is only to come after death, I am in no hurry for it.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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