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.

Reality is always the foe of famous names.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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.