Swords can’t solve every problem.

The horse seemed to bend time and space as he ran, blurring the landscape and making Frank feel like he'd just drunk a gallon of whole milk without his lactose-intolerance medicine: "Seven hundred and fifty miles per hour. Eight hundred. Eight hundred and three. Fast. very Fast.

My modus operandi hasn't really changed that much from when I was an English teacher. I wanted my students to leave my classroom loving reading and wanting to read more, and if they left my classroom thinking that reading is boring, then I haven't done my job.

But Annabeth knew that people saw what they wanted to see. They didn’t need the Mist to warp their perceptions.

I know you'll do what's best for Annabeth." "How can you be sure?" "Because she'd do the same for you.

I want to build some thing permanent.

You know how hard it is to feel like an extreme falcon-headed combat machine when somebody calls you "chicken man"?