Even the best things are not equal to their fame.
Even those who write against fame wish for the fame of having written well, and those who read their works desire the fame of having read them.
Fame always brings loneliness. Success is as ice cold and lonely as the North Pole.
Fame and power are the objects of all men. Even their partial fruition is gained by very few; and that, too, at the expense of social pleasure, health, conscience, life.
Fame comes only when deserved, and then is as inevitable as destiny, for it is destiny.
Fame has also this great drawback, that if we pursue it, we must direct our lives so as to please the fancy of men.
Fame hides her head among the clouds.
Fame is a constant effort
Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
Fame is an illusive thing — here today, gone tomorrow. The fickle, shallow mob raises its heroes to the pinnacle of approval today and hurls them into oblivion tomorrow at the slightest whim; cheers today, hisses tomorrow; utter forgetfulness in a few months.
Fame is but the breath of people, and that often unwholesome.
Fame is like a river, that beareth up things light and swollen, and drowns things weighty and solid.
Fame is like a shaved pig with a greased tail, and it is only after it has slipped through the hands of some thousands, that some fellow, by mere chance, holds on to it!
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.
Fame is only good for one thing-they will cash your check in a small town.
Fame is proof that the people are gullible.
Fame is something that must be won. Honor is something that must not be lost.
Fame is the echo of actions, resounding them to the world, save that the echo repeats only the last art, but fame relates all, and often more than all.
Fame is the inheritance not of the dead, but of the living. It is we who look back with lofty pride to the great names of antiquity.
Fame is the perfume of heroic deeds.
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