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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

Fame is but the empty noise of madmen.

Reality is always the foe of famous names.

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

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

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

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

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!