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.

I would much rather have men ask why I have no statue than why I have one.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

I’m afraid of losing my obscurity. Genuineness only thrives in the dark. Like celery.

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.

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

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