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

Rick Riordan

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Rick Riordan
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: June 5
Author
Novelist
Teacher
Writer
Military City
USA
Richard Russell Riordan
Jr.
Richard Russell Riordan Jr
Feels
Extreme
Men
Calls
Like
Machine
Extremes
Falcon
Machines
Headed
Somebody
Chicken
Hard
Chickens
Feel
Combat

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Life is only precious because it ends, kid.
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It's just Annabeth mom jeez!
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What-what do you want? Annabeth asked, trying to maintain a tone of confidence. The voice cackled maliciously. 'To curse you, of course! To destroy you thousand times in the name of Mother Night!' Only a thousand times? Percy murmured. Oh, good...I thought we were in trouble.
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If possible, try to avoid pushing each other over the edge, as that would cause me extra paperwork.
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I named my camel Katrina. She was a natural disaster. She slobbered everywhere and seemed to think the purple streak in my hair was some kind of exotic fruit. She was obsessed with trying to eat my head. I named Walt's camel Hindenburg. He was almost as large as a zeppelin and definitely as full of gas.
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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.
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'You're Dionysus,' I said. 'The god of wine.' Mr. D rolled his eyes. 'What do they say these days, Grover? Do the children say Well duh!?' 'Y-yes, Mr. D.' 'Then, Well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?' 'You're a god.' 'Yes, child.' 'A god. You.'
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I'm just a kid, Chiron, I said miserably. What good is one lousy hero against something like Kronos? Chiron managed a smile. 'What good is one lousy hero'? Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain said something like that to me once, just before he single-handedly changed the course of your Civil War.
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I felt like one of Apollo's sacred cows- slow, dumb, and bright red.
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Where are you taking us? Nico said. You should be honored, my boy. You will have the opportunity to join a great army! Just like that silly game you play with cards and dolls. They're not dolls! They're figurines! And you can take your great army and—
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I survive all those battles, she growled, and I get defeated by a stupid chunk of rock!
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Why did adults have to be so thick? They always say “tell the truth,” and when you do, they don’t believe you. What’s the point?
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I hoped I wasn't blushing. It was bad enough I had to depend on my mom to drive me to my battles.
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Back in Khufu's day I knew a magician who parted the Nile just so he could climb to the bottom and retrieve a girl's necklace. Then there was that Israelite fellow, Mickey. Moses? Yeah, him.
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You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear thorough the search.
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It's useless to lecture a human.
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It's him, I said. Typhon. I was seriously hoping Chiron would say something good, like No, that's our huge friend Leroy! He's going to help us!
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I've always liked the idea that writing is a form of travel. And I started my writing career as a mystery novelist for adults.
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On a basketball court, five players were in the middle of an intense game. They wore assortment of jerseys from different American teams, and they all seemed keen to win—grunting and snarling at each other, stealing the ball and pushing. Oh…and the players were all baboons.
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