"Some people are so dry that you might soak them in a joke for a month and it would not get through their skins."

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Not for Moorcock the painful, infrequent excretion of dry little novels like so many rabbit pellets; his is the grand, messy fluxitself, in all its heroic vulgarity, its unquenchable optimism, its enthusiasm for the inexhaustible variousness of things.

— Angela Carter