If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me then. My barefoot rank is better.

Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a wing.

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They ’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Fame is a fickle food - Upon a shifting plate

I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.

Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.