"...never good at games, but he was always clever. He passes through the usual public school and the usual university and comes to [Providence], where he lives among the artists. He is bowed down with melancholy thought; he carries the whole weight of the universe upon his shoulders. He writes a novel of dazzling brilliance; he dabbles delicately in Amour and disappears, at the end of the book, into the luminous Future." Aldous Huxley, Crome Yellow