He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

I named my camel Katrina. She was a natural disaster. She slobbered everywhere and seemed to think the purple streak in my hair was some kind of exotic fruit. She was obsessed with trying to eat my head. I named Walt's camel Hindenburg. He was almost as large as a zeppelin and definitely as full of gas.

The Cyclopes growled, "I don't see very well since the last hero poked my eye out, but you're... NO... LADY... CYCLOPES!

Nico drank from the chalice, then offered it to Jason. "You asked me about trust, and taking a risk? Well, here you go, son of Jupiter. How much do you trust me?" Frank wasn't sure what Nico was talking about, but Jason didn't hesitate. He took the cup and drank.

Unless you stop him. Perhaps next we meet." "You'll be just as annoying?" I guessed. He fixed my with those warm brown eyes. "Or perhaps you could bring me up to speed on those modern courtship rituals." I sat there stunned until he gave me a glimpse of a smile-just enough to let me know he was teasing. Then he disappeared. "Oh, very funny!" I yelled.

As an author, I don't really think too much about being a celebrity. It's not like being a movie star or a TV star. It's not as if people recognize me when I walk down the street. That hardly ever happens, and it's just as well. But it is great when people know my books, when I walk through an airport and see them in the bookstore, or when I see someone reading a book on a plane or on a train, and it's something I've written. That's a wonderful feeling.

I love New York. You can pop out of the Underworld in Central Park, hail a taxi, head down Fifth Avenue with a giant hellhound loping behind you, and nobody even looks at you funny.