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Were not this desire of fame very strong, the difficulty of obtaining it, and the danger of losing it when obtained, would be sufficient to deter a man from so vain a pursuit.
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What a heavy burden is a name that has become famous too soon.
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What a wretched thing is all fame! A renown of the highest sort endures, say, for two thousand years. And then? Why, then, a fathomless eternity swallows it. Work for eternity; not the meagre rhetorical eternity of the periodical critics, but for the real eternity wherein dwelleth the Divine.
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What desire for fame attends both great and small; better be damned than mentioned not at all!
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What is fame? a fancied life in others’ breath.
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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What is popularly called fame is nothing but an empty name and a legacy from paganism
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What is the end of Fame? ’tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour: For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill, And bards burn what they call their ‘midnight taper,’ To have, when the original is dust, A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.
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What of them is left, to tell Where they lie, and how they fell? Not a stone on their turf, nor a bone in their graves: But they live in the Verse that immortally saves.
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What rage for fame attends both great and small! Better be d–n’d than mentioned not at all.
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What shall I do to be forever known, And make the age to come my own?
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What so foolish as the chase of fame? How vain the prize! how impotent our aim! For what are men who grasp at praise sublime, But bubbles on the rapid stream of time, That rise and fall, that swell, and are no more, Born and forgot, ten thousand in an hour.
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Whatever may be the temporary applause of men, or the expressions of public opinion, it may be asserted without fear of contradiction, that no true and permanent fame can be founded, except in labors which promote the happiness of mankind.
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What’s fame? a fancy’d life in other’s breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.
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When Fame stands by us all alone, she is an angel clad in light and strength; but when Love touches her she drops her sword, and fades away, ghostlike and ashamed.
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When I came to explain to them the ‘Nelson touch’, it was like an electric shock. Some shed tears, all approved–‘It was new–it was singular–it was simple!’
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Where’s Caesar gone now, in command high and able? Or Xerxes the splendid, complete in his table? Or Tully, with powers of eloquence ample? Or Aristotle, of genius the highest example?
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Who despises fame will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.
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Who fears not to do ill fears the name, And free from conscience, is a slave to fame.
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Who grasp’d at earthly fame, Grasped wind: nay, worse, a serpent grasped that through His hand slid smoothly, and was gone; but left A sting behind which wrought him endless pain.
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