Quotes About Fame

For somebody famous, it's weird anyway to meet someone, because they have a preconceived notion of who you are.

There's no difference between fame and infamy now. There's a new school of professional famous people that don't do anything. They don't create anything.

I would drive home and see people wearing my No. 34 jersey and wonder why, because I didn't feel worthy of that. And all the time I just knew people were staring at me, talking about me everywhere I went.

Naturally, people are curious about how my real mom feels about me having a TV mom.

People only look at me as a Beatle, but my friends look at me as a whole person. That's how life works, but it's not bugging me anymore.

We do what we do not to be known but for what we know to be known; the chase of fame is an absolute loss of aim.

Everybody loves and desires success, but they dislike and are envious of successful people.

When you're a kid, I think you want to be a film star. And I'm not as enamoured with that any more. The reality of that life is a lot of travel, and a lot of being away, which is impractical because I have four children, so I don't want to be away that much, not the other side of the world away.

As she won fame playing Ethel Mertz, she perceived all of her theater work not as an end in itself, let alone the fulfillment of a childhood dream, but solely as preparation for I Love Lucy. She never really could savor the fact that, while no Broadway legend, she had become a respected and regularly employed working actress.

Sending Paris Hilton to jail for being the most loathed celeprosy lesion in the history of the species seems like a happening idea at first - forty-five days at Century Regional Detention Center is so the new thirty days at Promises Malibu! But it sets a dangerous precedent to jail celebs just because someone hates them.

Rock stars did not invent burning out. They just do it louder.

The Chiffons had so many hits better than "He's So Fine"—"Out of This World," "Why Am I So Shy," "I Have a Boyfriend"—and it's a shame George never got around to rewriting those.) Just

Everybody loves your life but you

If Cody's fame and popularity seem strange to us today-he was, after all, celebrated for his prowess in killing, both buffalo and Indians-it is because his virtues were nineteenth-century virtues, and we live in an age of disillusion and cynicism. Cody's death, in a way, along with the First World War, signaled the end of those nineteenth-century values.

William F. Cody the man as distinguished from Buffalo Bill the public figure that we

I've been in this business long enough to have acclaim and disclaim, and to know the acclaim means no more than the disclaim.

They'll never give me an Oscar. And I sincerely, honestly don't care. I always turn up when I'm nominated and it would be nice to get one, but to win one would be bad luck. It comes with too much expectation. It would be the end.

It took me fifteen years to discover I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.

It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.

Critics! Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame.

Critics! Appalled I ventured on the name. Those cutthroat bandits in the paths of fame.

It took me fifteen years to discover that I had no talent for writing, but I couldn't give it up because by that time I was too famous.

For, as Cicero says, even those who argue against fame still want the books they write against it to bear their name in the title and hope to become famous for despising it. Everything else is subject to barter: we will let our friends have our goods and our lives if need be; but a case of sharing our fame and making someone else the gift of our reputation is hardly to be found. Montaigne, 1533-1592

O caminho falso na vida é, em geral, algo a que somos atraídos por motivos equivocados – dinheiro, fama, atenção, e assim por diante. Se é de atenção que precisamos, em geral experimentamos uma espécie de vazio interior, que esperamos preencher com o falso amor