The first thing we pulled out was a lump of white gunk. “Wax,” Carter pronounced. “Fascinating.

Don't get starry-eyed about somebody you can't have, especially if it blinds you to somebody who's really important.

Don't worry, goat boy. The milkman is dead.

At least he had Annabeth. They would find a way out of Tartarus. They had to. He didn't think much of fates and prophecies, but he did believe in one thing: Annabeth and he were supposed to be together. They hadn't survived so much just to get killed now.

My face felt like my normal face, as if that part of me hadn’t transformed into a bird. [Fine, Sadie. Call me the Carter-headed chicken. Happy?]

Wisdom's daughter walks alone, The mark of Athena burns through Rome.

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