Modest fame is not to be despised by the highest characters. [Lat., Modestiae fama neque summis mortalibus spernenda est.]
Marcel Proust shut out visitors from his cork-lined room, where he wrote, but he probably expected to be immortalized in the literary canon. Even the most introverted drives and motives are set in a social context and amplified by the potential for achieving fame.
There is no employment in the world so laborious as that of making to one's self a great name; life ends before one has scarcely made the first rough draught of his work.
Unlike the sun, intellectual luminaries shine brightest after they set.
He who seeks fame by the practice of virtue asks only for what he deserves.
To have fame follow us is well, but it is not a desirable avant-courier.
Time has a doomsday book, upon whose pages he is continually recording illustrious names. But as often as a new name is written there, an old one disappears. Only a few stand in illuminated characters never to be effaced.
Fame is a good so wholly foreign to our natures that we have no faculty in the soul adapted to it, nor any organ in the body to relish it; an object of desire placed out of the possibility of fruition.
A painter with prestige among painters is bound to be discovered sooner or later.
There are a lot of people who want to be famous nowadays: singers, actors and, you know, it's like a roller-coaster. And when you are very sensitive - I'm very sensitive - you have to be very strong... You have to just not pay attention to the people who hate you, you know?
And yet, after all, what is posthumous fame? Altogether vanity.
To be rich, to be famous? do these profit a year hence, when other names sound louder than yours, when you lie hidden away under ground, along with the idle titles engraven on your coffin? But only true love lives after you, follows your memory with secret blessings or pervades you, and intercedes for you. Non omnis moriar, if, dying, I yet live in a tender heart or two; nor am lost and hopeless, living, if a sainted departed soul still loves and prays for me.
Many actions calculated to procure fame are not conducive to ultimate happiness.
Fame has eagle wings, and yet she mounts not so high as man's desires.
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name. [Lat., Nolo virum facili redimit qui sanquine famam; Hunc volo laudari qui sine morte potest.]
A woman's fame is the tomb of her happiness.
The thirst after fame is greater than that after virtue; for who embraces virtue if you take away its rewards?
Of all the rewards of virtue, . . . the most splendid is fame, for it is fame alone that can offer us the memory of posterity.
Fame, if not double fac'd, is double mouth'd, And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds; On both his wings, one black, the other white, Bears greatest names in his wild aery flight.
Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, and now that, and changes name as it changes direction.
The love of fame is the last weakness which even the wise resign.
The lust of fame is the last that a wise man shakes off.
After all, what does fame everlasting mean? Mere vanity.
Fame and riches are fleeting. Stupidity is eternal
Fame comes with its own standard. A guy who twitches his lips is just another guy with a lip twitch - unless he's Humphrey Bogart.
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