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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

And what will history say of me a thousand years hence?

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

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