I am sure that when we had time to think of it, we must have suspected that a society whose elite was so grossly affluent, I mean a society that numbered its billions of dollars as we counted our nickels, could have and possibly should have exhibited a bit more concern for the fate of its young artists who might plausibly be expected, if they chance to mature, to have some influence on the (very protean) culture of a nation which was then, as it remains now, a nation ruled by that numerically tiny gang which has fitted itself on the top of the totem pole and is scared of getting dizzy if it glances down.

The Memoirs of Tennessee Williams