A tinkerer,” snapped Pasiphaë. “Even worse. I knew Daedalus. His inventions brought me nothing but trouble.” Leo blinked. “Daedalus…like, the Daedalus? Well, then, you should know all about us tinkerers. We’re more into fixing, building, occasionally sticking wads of oilcloth in the mouths of rude ladies—

Life is only precious because it ends, kid. Take it from a god. You mortals don't know how lucky you are

I enjoy writing for both kids and adults, though I think I'm better at children's stories because I was a teacher for so long, and I know that audience well. The process is no different whether I'm writing for children or adults. Really, the elements of making a good story are the same.

I held out a lead figurine of Hades—the little Mythomagic statue Nico had abandoned when he fled camp last winter. Nico hesitated. "I don’t play that game anymore. It’s for kids." "It’s got four thousand attack power," I coaxed. "Five thousand," Nico corrected. "But only if your opponent attacks first." I smiled. "Maybe it’s okay to still be a kid once in a while.

We'll have to work on your bunny phobia later.

You know how teachers tell you the magic word is 'please'? That's not true. The magic word is 'puke'. It will get you out of class faster than anything else.

My dear children!" Nellie whopped him upside the head with her backpack. "Ow!" Uncle Alistair curled over, cupping his hand over his good eye. "Nellie!" Amy said. "Sorry," Nellie muttered. "I thought he was one of the bad guys.