Aldous Huxley and Christopher Isherwood.
I think Aldous knows that I like him. This is our only bond. We talk such different languages. Every time I open my mouth he is obscurely pained and distressed. I am such a hopeless ignoramus, such a barbarian. “And yet,” I can imagine Aldous saying, “one supposes there is something….these young men who imagined they understood socialism, when, all the time, of course, one saw perfectly clearly —”
Read more here.