Superficial Relationships Quotes

He that has many friends, has no friends.

Language and words for psychopaths are only word deep; there is no emotional colouring behind it. A psychopath can use a word like, 'I love you' but it means nothing more to him than if he said, 'I'll have a cup of coffee.'

Society is commonly too cheap. We meet at very short intervals, not having had time to acquire any new value for each other. We meet at meals three times a day, and give each other a new taste of that old musty cheese that we are.

Beware of those who seek constant crowds; they are nothing alone.

When you're rich, you don't have friends; you just have endless acquaintances.

When you become famous at 19, it does a number in your head, so you find romance in the mundane - isn't it so great that a guy would pick me up at my house and take me to a restaurant?

I love my friends very much, but I find that it is of no use to go to see them. I hate them commonly when I am near them. They belie themselves and deny me continually.

[We are] persuaded to spend money we don't have on things we don't need to create impressions that won't last on people we don't care about.

He who hath many friends hath none.

I have a family, loving aunts, and a good home. No, on the surface I seem to have everything except my one true friend. All I think about when I'm with friends is having a good time. I can't bring myself to talk about anything but ordinary everyday things. We don't seem to be able to get any closer, and that's the problem.

I just am really bad at making new friends - especially in the music industry, because they're not really real friends; they're just music industry friends.

We may have many acquaintances, but we can have but few friends; this made Aristotle say that he that hath many friends hath none.

Solitude is the surest nurse of all prurient passions, and a girl in the hurry of preparation, or tumult of gaiety, has neither inclination nor leisure to let tender expressions soften or sink into her heart. The ball, the show, are not the dangerous places: no, 'tis the private friend, the kind consoler, the companion of the easy vacant hour, whose compliance with her opinions can flatter her vanity, and whose conversation can sooth, without ever stretching her mind, that is the lover to be feared: he who buzzes in her ear at court, or at the opera, must be contented to buzz in vain.

Man, I don't got any real fans. Just fair-weather ones and groupies.

Flattery looks like friendship, just like a wolf looks like a dog. Food for thought is no substitute for the real thing.

When you're famous, you don't get to meet people because they want you to like them when the present themselves to you, and you don't see the real people.

You can't find any true closeness in Hollywood, because everybody does the fake closeness so well.

Money will buy you a bed, but not a good night's sleep, a house but not a home, a companion but not a friend.

And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep, A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep?

Friendship is cemented by interest, vanity, or the want of amusement; it seldom implies esteem, or even mutual regard.

Everybody in L.A. is a songwriter, producer, actor, creative. For some reason, you're supposed to go to a bar and all hang out and act like you like each other. There is a lot of fake stuff that goes on.

I am very interested and fascinated how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other.

I have a lot of celebrity friends. But they're all Hollywood friends. You can't call them if you fall over and break your leg, but if you're having a BBQ and wanna chitchat, you hang out with them, or you go to their house.

I never was attached to that great sect, Whose doctrine is, that each one should select Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend, And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend To cold oblivion, though it is in the code Of modern morals, and the beaten road Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread, Who travel to their home among the dead By the broad highway of the world, and so With one chained friend — perhaps a jealous foe, The dreariest and the longest journey go.

When I'm lovin' these hoes, there ain't no love involved.