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
Hestia shook her head. "I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have gone off to war, I am all that's left. Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian
To all my librarian friends, champions of books, true magicians in the House of Life. Without you, this writer would be lost in the Dust.
Egyptians believe in the power of the sunrise. They believe each morning begins not just a new day, but a new world.
I'm Dylan. I'm so cool. I want to date myself, but I don't know how! You want to date me instead? You're so lucky!
A hero can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as he has the nerve.
Have you ever noticed how parents can go from the most wonderful people in the world to totally embarrassing in three seconds?
It takes strength and courage to admit the truth.
Hephaestus glowered up at us. “I didn’t make you, did I?” Uh,” Annabeth said, “no, sir.” Good,” the god grumbled. “Shoddy workmanship.
Not knowing is half the fun," Aphrodite said, "Exquisitely painful isn't it? Not being sure who you love and who loves you? Oh, you kids! It's so cute I'm going to cry!
Aretmis gripped her bow. “Let us pray I am wrong.” Can goddesses pray?
Well . . . sure good to be together again. Arguing. Almost dying. Abject terror. Oh, look. It's our floor.
I past another telkhine, who was so startled he dropped his Lil' Demons lunch box. I left him alive - partly because he had a cool lunch box...
I love New York. You can pop out of the Underworld in Central Park, hail a taxi, head down Fifth Avenue with a giant hellhound loping behind you, and nobody even looks at you funny.
The end of the world started when a pegasus landed on the hood of my car