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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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!

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

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

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

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