“I don't care what your nose says! The last time you smelled half-blood, it turned out to be a meatloaf sandwich!"
"Meatloaf sandwiches are good! But this is a half-blood scent, I swear. They are on board!"
"Bah, your brain isn't on board!”

“I don't remember ordering the Christian sandwich…”

“Look, I never wanted to be a half-blood. most of the time it gets you killed in nasty, dangerous ways.”

“Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.”

“He was a fool — a brilliant man and I loved his beard, and there was the mountain ax in his brain, and all the blood poured out, and he could not see the Mexican sun. Your people raised the ax, and the last blood of revolutionary mankind, his poor blood, ran into the carpet.”

“Here is some advice. If you want to keep your own teeth, make your own sandwiches ….”

“Life is good when you have a good sandwich.”

“The drafts from the regiments at Ticonderoga are a miserable set; indeed the men on board the fleet, in general, are not equal to half their number of good men.”

“One half of me is yours, the other half is yours,
Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours,
And so all yours.”

“Rachel: You're a half-blood, too?
Annabeth: Shhh! Just announce it to the world, how about?
Rachel: Okay. Hey, everybody! These two aren't human! They're half Greek god!… They don't seem to care.”