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

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

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

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

Fame is but the empty noise of madmen.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.