Nothing Can Stop A Living Thing That

Any Good Society Survives On A Circulation Of Favours.

If Only A Man Could Spit His Past Out So Easily.

A White Tiger Keeps No Friends. It's Too Dangerous.

Here's A Strange Fact: Murder A Man, And You Feel Responsible For His Life - ''possessive'', Even. You Know More About Him Than His Father And Mother; They Knew His Fetus, But You Know His Corpse. Only You Can Complete The Story Of His Life, Only You Know Why His Body Has To Be Pushed Into The Fire Before Its Time, And Why His Toes Curl Up And Fight For Another Hour On Earth.

When I Was Writing 'the White Tiger' I Lived In A Building Pretty Much Exactly Like The One I Described In This Novel, And The People In The Book Are The People I Lived With Back Then. So I Didn't Have To Do Much Research To Find Them.