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

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.

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

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

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.

Famous, adj. Conspicuously miserable.

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

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

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.

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

Fame is but the empty noise of madmen.