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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

Fame is but the empty noise of madmen.

He who treats another human being as divine thereby assigns to himself the relative status of a child or an animal.

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

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

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