“Percy," Grover said, "the gods really don't appreciate people sitting in their thrones. I mean like turn-you-into-a-pile-of-ashes don't appreciate it.”
“Over my pile of ashes”
“Always, you wake up to an unpleasant memory and an unpleasant body and your spirit is reduced to a pile of dirty ashes residing somewhere inside of your ass. You've gotta face the music, which is a beautiful island outside, but you can't even bear to look out the window.”
“But sweetie, nothing says I love you like an erection.”
“Nothing says I love you like processed food.”