Nos pe' res avaient un Paris de pierre, nos fils auront un Paris de pla" tre. Our fathers had a Parismade of stone; our sons will have a Paris made of plaster.Victor Marie Hugo: 1831Notre-Dame de Paris, pt.3, ch.2.
At daybreak I found on my sculptor’s turntable a little mischievous form (a small plaster form of Impish Form, Arp made in 1949), alert and somewhat obese, with a stomach like a lute. It seemed to me like an imp. I called it that. And all of a sudden one day this little character, this imp, through a Venezuelan medium, found itself to be the father of a giant (Arp enlarged it). This giant son resembles its father like an egg resembles another egg, a fig another fig, a bell another bell.hans arp: p. 431 (Jours effeuillés: Poèmes, essaies, souvenirs, 1966)
And the plaster dented from your fistin the hall where you had your first kissreminds you that the memories will fade.chris carrabba: The Brilliant Dance
I don't know of any thing in my book to be criticised on by honourable men. Is it on my spelling? — that's not my trade. Is it on my grammar ? — I hadn't time to learn it, and make no pretensions to it. Is it on the order and arrangement of my book ? — I never wrote one before, and never read very many; and, of course, know mighty little about that. Will it be on the authorship of the book? — this I claim, and I hang on to it, like a wax plaster. The whole book is my own, and every sentiment and sentence in it. I would not be such a fool, or knave either, as to deny that I have had it hastily run over by a friend or so, and that some little alterations have been made in the spelling and grammar; and I am not so sure that it is not the worse of even that, for I despise this way of spelling contrary to nature. And as for grammar, it's pretty much a thing of nothing at last, after all the fuss that's made about it. In some places, I wouldn't suffer either the spelling, or grammar, or any thing else to be touch'd; and therefore it will be found in my own way.But if any body complains that I have had it looked over, I can only say to him, her, or them — as the case may he — that while critics were learning grammar, and learning to spell, I, and "Doctor Jackson, L.L.D." were fighting in the wars; and if our hooks, and messages, and proclamations, and cabinet writings, and so forth, and so on, should need a little looking over, and a little correcting of the spelling and the grammar to make them fit for use, its just nobody's business. Big men have more important matters to attend to than crossing their ts—, and dotting their i's—, and such like small things.davy crockett: Preface (1 February 1834)
Almost at precisely the same time Bobby ran into the bus on New Year's Eve, Edie was in a bad accident out in California. Edie was driving. There was flashing red light and she didn't stop. A big saloon car drove right into us. The car went into a lamp stand on the next street. My head went through the windshield. The car was totaled. They had it on TV - "How did two people step out of this car alive?" I was cut around the right eye and had to have twenty-two stiches. Edie, it turned out, had broked a knee. Edie was very scared that her father was going to use this accident as an excuse to put her back in the loony bin. We talked things over in the hospital room. She decided that we'd leave undetected. Her mother was in cahoots with her. She came and picked us up in a station wagon. Edie's leg was in plaster. Mrs. Sedgwick drove us to the ranch, and then we took our stuff and I drove Edie directly to the Los Angeles airport where we had a drink, and then she boarded the next plane for New York. I never saw her again.edie sedgwick: G. J. Barker Benfield on Edie's car accident in California, as quoted in Edie : American Girl (1982) by Jean Stein and George Plimpton
Partition is after all only an old fortress of crumbled masonry — held together with the plaster of fiction.Éamon de valera: (January 1918)
The foundation of our religion is very strong. The material is strong as well, but the building itself was neglected for hundreds of years. As the plaster dropped down, none thought to replace it and none felt the need to reinforce the building. Quite the contrary: many foreign elements and interpretations, as well as empty beliefs, came along and damaged it still more.mustafa kemal atatürk: As quoted in Kemalizm, Laiklik ve Demokrasi [Kemalism, Laicism and Democracy] (1994) by Ahmet Taner Kışlalı
Out for a walk I was, wanted to clear my head, I’d been drinking the night before, tequila mostly, a bit of lime juice, one lime per bottle, or four limes in all, by the end of the evening. I was feeling poorly, I had asked for help with the tequila, but no one came, all sent regrets, busy elsewhere, prior engagement, don’t go out after dark anymore, that sort of thing, allergic to rats, that sort of thing. I could not blame them. My brother sent regrets, from his room behind the kitchen, stuffy bastard, nose in a book probably, or playing his drums, the jackass, fraternity is not among his talents. So I wandered out, in the cool of the morning, fell down a time or two, that was to be expected, reached the whorehouse district without other difficulty but they’d all gone to bed, banged my head on a door or two but no one answered, that was to be expected, it was 7 or thereabouts, fresh, cool, and golden. And I said why not the graveyard? and could think of no compelling contrary argument, and went there, and tumbled into an open grave, and broke a leg. It was a new grave, having been readied the previous day for a 10 A.M. ceremonial, I say 10 A.M. because that was the hour at which they discovered me. They fished me out and took me in a van to a hospital where a young man cut straight up my trouser leg with shears, not knowing I suppose that I had no other trousers, and then did the necessary with the plaster and canvas or whatever it is, and hung the finished product from a sort of slingshot affair above the bed. Double spiral break, he said, very nasty, and asked the date of my birth and what authority I belonged to, city, county, state or federal, and I told him, as best as I could remember. And thus I found myself, for three months and ten days, at the mercy of my brother Manfred, for whom pig is perhaps too soft, or sweet, a word.Donald Barthelme: “Manfred”, opening; Kim Herzinger, p. 329: “In February 1976, The New York Times Magazine ran the beginning of a yet-unnamed story written by Barthelme. Readers were invited, in Barthelme’s own words, ‘to complete it in no more than 750 words...as an experiment in literary collaboration.’ Barthelme hoped that the entries would be ‘serious, rather than parodies or burlesques.’ He added, ‘I have done the easiest part, the beginning; you are asked to provide the terrifying middle and the subtle, uncomparably beautiful ending. God be with you.’ The ‘terrifying middle’ and ‘incomparably beautiful ending’ were provided by Karen Shaw, for which she won $250. ... ...the final version was published in The New York Times Magazine on April 18, 1976.”
Hoxha's picture is plastered on just about every wall in the land. His profile adorns Albania's monetary unit, the lek, and at meetings of the Communist Central Committee (most of whom are related to each other and to the boss by blood or marriage) Hoxha speaks from a podium decorated with a plaster bust of himself. Like his country, Hoxha is full of surprises. Instead of being a rough, tough mountain chieftain, he is a former schoolteacher and was the pampered son of a well-to-do Moslem merchant. Though he has the mentality of a brigand, his manners are those of a cultivated bourgeois and reflect his education at universities in France and Belgium.enver hoxha: ALBANIA: STALIN'S HEIR, Time magazine, Dec. 22, 1961
When the sun shouts and people abound One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of bronze And the iron age; iron the unstable metal; Steel made of iron, unstable as his mother; the towered-up cities Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster. Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time, kind rains will cure them, Then nothing will remain of the iron age And all these people but a thigh-bone or so, a poem Stuck in the world's thought, splinters of glass In the rubbish dumps, a concrete dam far off in the mountain...robinson jeffers: "Summer Holiday"
The building itself is hostile: cracked plaster, broken windows, splintered doors and carved up desks, gloomy corridors and metal stairways, dingy cafeteria (they can eat sitting down only in 20 minute shifts) and an auditorium which has no windows. It does have murals, however, depicting mute, muscular harvesters, faded and immobile under a mustard sun.bel kaufman: Part I, ch. 5 (Sylvia Barrett)
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too, But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints, Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints.rudyard kipling: Tommy, Stanza 4.
At least I don't plaster on the makeup like a trollop, you cunt.john mccain: Taken from The Real McCain by Cliff Schecter, referring to his wife, Cindy McCain. Overheard by three anonymous reporters during his 1992 senate bid. 
My nighttime attitude is, anyone can run you down and get away with it. Why give some drunk the chance to plaster me against a car? That's why I don't even own a bike light, or one of those godawful reflective suits. Because if you've put yourself in a position where someone has to see you in order for you to be safe to see you, and to give a fuck you've already blown it.neal stephenson: Chapter 5 (Taylor on riding a bike at night)
What is going on here is a deliberate revision by Current not only of Lincoln but of himself in order to serve the saint in the 1980s as opposed to the saint at earlier times when black were still colored, having only just stopped being Negroes. In colored and Negro days the saint might have wanted them out of the country, as he did. But in the age of Martin Luther King even the most covertly racist of school boards must agree that a saint like Abraham Lincoln could never have wanted a single black person to leave freedom’s land much less bravery’s home. So all the hagiographers are redoing their plaster images and anyone who draws attention to the discrepancy between their own past crudities and their current falsities is a very bad person indeed, and not a scholar, and probably a communist as well.gore vidal: "Lincoln and the Priests of Academe"
In any foreseeable future there are going to be thousands and thousands of people who detest and abominate Negroes, communists, Russians, Chinese, Jews, Catholics, beatniks, homosexuals, and "dope-fiends." These hatreds are not going to be healed, but only inflamed, by insulting those who feel them, and the abusive labels with which we plaster them squares, fascists, rightists, know-nothings may well become the proud badges and symbols around which they will rally and consolidate themselves. Nor will it do to confront the opposition in public with polite and nonviolent sit-ins and demonstrations, while boosting our collective ego by insulting them in private. If we want justice for minorities and cooled wars with our natural enemies, whether human or non-human, we must first come to terms with the minority and the enemy in ourselves and in our own hearts, for the rascal is there as much as anywhere in the "external" world -especially when you realize that the world outside your skin is as much yourself as the world inside. For want of this awareness, no one can be more belligerent than a pacifist on the rampage, or more militantly nationalistic than an anti-imperialist.alan watts: (page 98) (The Book on the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are (1966))
There is no necessary connection between the important events of a life and the records of it that have been preserved in memory, in documents, in memorials, or in living testimony. The biographer must compose his life of what he has, just as the archeologist must restore his temple or his statue with such fragments as thieving time and careless men have left him; but fate often ironically leaves him a well-preserved leg and a dismembered torso, while the head, which would supply the main clue to the body, is missing. Hence, in addition to the purposive selection exercised by the subject himself and by the biographer in making use of such materials as are left, there exists a purely external selection dominated by chance, which cuts across the evidence in an arbitrary fashion. To correct for such distortions the biographer must be an anatomist of character: he must be able to restore the missing nose in plaster, even if he does not find the original marble.Lewis Mumford: Ch. 14 (The Pentagon of Power (1970))
I have always hated biography, and more especially, autobiography. If biography, the writer invariably finds it necessary to plaster the subject with praises, flattery, and adulation and to invest him with all the Christian graces. If autobiography, the same plan is followed, but the writer apologizes for it.Carolyn Wells, The Rest of My Life (1937), ch. 1
You rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster.William Shakespeare, The Tempest (c. 1610-1612), Act II, scene 1, line 138.
Boils and plagues Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen.William Shakespeare, Coriolanus (c. 1607-08), Act I, scene 4, line 37.