To foreswear romantic love forever. To never grow up, never get married. To be maiden eternally.

Then there was Nico di Angelo. Dang, that kid gave Leo the freaky-deakies. He sat back in his leather aviator jacket, his black T-shirt and jeans, that wicked silver skull ring on his finger, and the Stygian sword at his side. His tufts of black hair struck up in curls like baby bat wings. His eyes were sad and kind of empty, as if he’d stared into the depths of Tartarus—which he had.

Tantalus made a wild grab, but the marshmallow committed suicide, diving into the flames.

Thank Artemis, it is you! That little scar on your lip--you tried to eat a stapler when you were two!" ... Hedge nodded like he approved of Jason's taste. "Staplers--excellent source of iron.

We’ve all got weaknesses. Me, for instance. I’m tragically funny and good-looking.

All of my characters tend to be montages of different people I've met: little bits and pieces of their personalities put together.

You set us up!” “No! I swear—” Her face fell. “Mel. Mel must’ve told him.” “Right,” I grumbled. “Blame Mel.