“Sometimes I look at a Socialist-the intellectual, tract-writing type of Socialist, with his pullover, his fuzzy hair, and his Marxian quotation-and wonder what the devil his motive really is. It is often difficult to believe that it is a love of anybody, especially of the working class, from whom he is of all people the furthest removed….Though seldom giving much evidence of affection for the exploited, he is perfectly capable of displaying hatred -a sort of queer, theoretical, in vacua hatred-against the exploiters. Hence the grand old Socialist sport of denouncing the bourgeoisie. It is strange how easily almost any Socialist writer can lash himself into frenzies of rage against the class to which, by birth or by adoption, he himself invariably belongs…”

George Orwell  Road to Wigan Pier