Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan
Richard Russell "Rick" Riordan, Jr. is an American author known for writing the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, which is about a twelve-year-old who discovers he is a son of Poseidon. His books have been translated into 37 languages and sold more than 30 million copies in the US. Twentieth Century Fox has adapted the first two books of his Percy Jackson series as part of a series of films. His books have spawned related media, such as graphic novels...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth5 June 1964
CountryUnited States of America
Love is no game! It is no flowery softness! It is hard work- It demands everything from you- especially the truth. Only then does it yield results.
I figure the world is basically a machine. I don't know who made it, if it was the Fates, or the gods, or the capital-G god or whatever. But it chugs along the way it's supposed to most of the time. Sure, little pieces break off and stuff goes haywire once in a while, but mostly... things happen for a reason.
[Percy] kept hoping things would get better for Annabeth and him, but their lives just got more dangerous, as if the Three Fates were up there spinning their futures with barbed wire instead of thread just to see how much two demigods could tolerate.
Nico, I've seen a lot of brave things. But what you just did? That was maybe the bravest.
Jason's fingers itched to draw his sword. He'd met plenty of scary demigods, but he was starting to realize that Nico di Angelo--as pale and gaunt as he looked--might be more than he could handle.
Akmon squealed with delight. “I knew you were as smart as Hercules! I will call you Black Bottom, the Sequel!
Lots of death, huh? Personally, I'm trying to avoid lots of death, but you guys have fun!
We’ve arrived,” Leo announced. “Time to Split.” Frank groaned. “Can we leave Valdez in Croatia?
Piper leaned toward [Jason], her caramel braid falling over her shoulder. Her multicolored eyes made it hard for him to think straight. “And where is this place?” she asked. “A . . . uh, a town called Split.” “Split.” She smelled really good—like blooming honeysuckle. “Um, yeah.” Jason wondered if Piper was working some sort of Aphrodite magic on him—like maybe every time he mentioned Reyna’s name, she would befuddle him so much he couldn’t think about anything but Piper. He supposed it wasn’t the worst sort of revenge.
Tell the sun and stars hello for me.
And it was pretty much the best underwater kiss of all time.
It's hard to enjoy practical jokes when your whole life feels like one.
But Grover’s voice was already growing fainter. ‘Sweet dreams. Don’t let me die!
Seriously, who has monogrammed pajamas?