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
The wood nymph instructors left me in the dust. They told me not to worry about it. They'd had centuries of practice running away from lovesick gods. But still, it was a little humiliating to be slower than a tree.
You assume that it has to be a male god who finds a human female attractive? How sexist is that?
You're the last Olympian,' I said. 'And the most important.' And why is that, Percy Jackson?' Because Hope survives best at the hearth,' I said.
It almost made me long for the flying pig. --Percy
She (Annabeth) put her hand on my spine, and my skin tingled. I (Percy) moved her fingers to the one spot that grounded me to my mortal life. A thousand volts of electricity seemed to arc through my body.
Go Chase A Donut. -Percy Jackson.
I turned and found Dionysus standing there, still in his black suit. Walk with me,” he said. Where to?” I asked suspiciously. Just to the campfire,” he said. “I was beginning to feel better, so I thought I would talk with you a bit. You always manage to annoy me.” Uh, thanks.
Chiron insisted that we talk about the Labyrinth in the morning which is like 'Hey, your life's in mortal danger. Sleep tight!
Are you guys busy?" Juniper asked. "Well," I said, "we're in the middle of this game against a bunch of monsters and we're trying not to die." "We're not busy," Annabeth said.
We'd spent maybe ten minutes together, during which time I'd accidentally swung a sword at her, she'd saved my life, and I'd run away chased by a band of supernatural killing machines. You know, your typical chance meeting.
Don't worry, goat boy. The milkman is dead.
Mr. D, wearing his leopard-skin jogging suit and rummaging through the refrigerator. He looked up lazily. "Do you mind?" Where's Chiron!" I shouted. How rude." Mr. D took a swig from a jug of grape juice. "Is that how you say hello?" Hello," I amended. "We're about to die! Where's Chiron?
his hair was permed and gelled like a New Jersey girl's on homecoming night. Percy Jackson
If there were ever any half-bloods who needed to worry about that, it was Thalia and me. I wondered if maybe I should've sent Poseidon that seashell pattern tie for Father's Day after all. --Percy Jackson