Quotes About Fame

Hey, even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.

The moment the world declares a person to be immortal, at that moment the person will strive to prove the world wrong. In the face of glowing press releases and reviews the most heralded women starve themselves or cut themselves or poison themselves. Or they find a man who's happy to do that for him.

You realize that there's no point in doing anything if nobody's watching.

Because the only difference between a suicide and a martyrdom really is the amount of press coverage.

Anonymity is the new fame.

Give me attention. Flash. Give me adoration. Flash. Give me a break. Flash

At least Anne Frank," Comrade Snarky said, "never had to tour with her book . . .

Welcome to America, our never-ending, great popularity contest.

You re­al­ize that there's no point in do­ing any­thing if no­body's watch­ing.

All of these stars, the most powerful actors in film, they were all gone in an instant.

Since change is constant, you wonder if people crave death because it's the only way they can get anything really finished. The agent's yelling that no matter how great you look, your body is just something you wear to accept your Academy Award. Your hand is just so you can hold your Nobel Prize. Your lips are only there for you to air-kiss a talk show host.

My feet walked me down the aisle of the Greyhound bus, all the way to the back. My butt sat me in a seat. My butt's accomplished a lot since then. My butt's a movie star.

If Marilyn Monroe was alive right now, what would she be doing?" I say, goodnight. The headliner hangs down in shreds from the ceiling, and Tyler says, Clawing at the lid of her coffin.

Up those stairs, to anybody after the fiftieth dude, Cassie Wright will look like a missile crater greased with Vaseline. Flesh and blood, but like something's exploded inside her.

That if enough people looked at you, you'd never need anybody's attention ever again.

Tyler lies back and asks, If Marilyn Monroe was alive right now, what would she be doing?" I say, goodnight. The headliner hangs down in shreds from the ceiling, and Tyler says, Clawing at the lid of her coffin.

More and more, for the stupid little kid, that was the idea... That if enough people looked at you, you'd never need anybody's attention ever again. That if someday you were caught, exposed, and revealed enough, then you'd never be able to hide again. There'd be no difference between your public and your private lives. That if you could acquire enough, accomplish enough, you'd never want to own or do another thing.

atque illi artifices corporis simulacra ignotis nota faciebant; quae uel si nulla, nihilo sint tamen obscuriores clari uiri.

If Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana were candles in the wind, and Anna Nicole Smith was a bonfire in a hailstorm, and Lindsay Lohan is an electric toaster thrown intentionally into a Jacuzzi, then Paris Hilton s a strobe light in an epilepsy ward.

Stop pathetically believing that you deserve fame or fame deserves you. It's yucky, and it's only making you miserable, so stop.

Fame is a perverse deformity, an ego swelling as ludicrous as an extra organ, and the people that have it, for a huge part, are willfully and deliberately fucked-up past the point of ever having anything sweet or human or normal about themselves ever again.

I'm always looking for evidence to support my conjecture that celebrity in Hollywood is sort of like a Joel Peter Witkin photograph: It looks like a big lush banquet table filled with abundance and cornucopias, and then if you look at it closer you see that all the fruit is made of wax and that entree in the middle of the table is actually a dead baby.

Look deep into your heart, Gentle Reader. Deep, deep, deep; past your desire for true love, for inexhaustible riches or uncontested sexual championship, for the ability to fight crime and restore peace to a weary world. Underneath all this, if you are a true, red-blooded American, you'll find the throbbing desire to be famous.

even reflected glory can be intoxicating.