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“Now, come over here so I can pat you down."
"But you don't have-" Percy stopped. "Uh, sure."
He stood next to the armless statue. Terminus conducted a rigorous mental pat down.
"You seem to be clean," Terminus decided. "Do you have anything to declare?"
"Yes," Percy said. "I declare that this is stupid.”
― Rick Riordan, The Son of Neptune

“Naturally, Coach Hedge went ballistic; but Percy found it hard to take the satyr seriously since he was barely five feet tall.
"Never in my life!" Coach bellowed, waving his bat and knocking over a plate of apples. "Against the rules! Irresponsible!"
"Coach," Annabeth said, "it was an accident. We were talking, and we fell asleep."
"Besides," Percy said, "you're starting to sound like Terminus."
Hedge narrowed his eyes. "Is that an insult, Jackson? 'Cause I'll—I'll terminus you, buddy!”
― Rick Riordan, The Mark of Athena

“THAT'S IT!" Terminus cried. "That's AGAINST THE RULES!"
Polybotes frowned, obviously confused that he was being told off by a statue. "What are you?" he growled. "Shut up!"
He pushed the statue over and turned back to Percy.
"Now I'm MAD!" Terminus shrieked. "I'm strangling you. Feel that? Those are my hands around your neck, you big bully. Get over here! I'm going to head-butt you so hard--”
― Rick Riordan, The Son of Neptune

“Percy?" Annabeth gripped his arm.
"Oh, bad," he muttered. "Bad. Bad." He looked across the table at Frank and Hazel. "You guys remember Polybotes?"
"The giant who invaded Camp Jupiter," Hazel said. "The anti-Poseidon you whacked in the head with a Terminus statue. Yes, I think I remember”
― Rick Riordan, The Mark of Athena

“Terminus sniffed. “I guard borders. I don’t kill giants. It’s not in my job description.”
― Rick Riordan, The Son of Neptune

“Coach," Annabeth said, "it was an accident. We were talking, and we fell asleep."
"Besides," Percy said, "you're starting to sound like Terminus."
Hedge narrowed his eyes. "Is that an insult, Jackson? 'Cause I'll-I'll Terminus you, buddy!”
― Rick Riordan, The Mark of Athena

“A few blocks farther on, we found Terminus, his World War I greatcoat peppered with shrapnel holes, his nose broken clean off his marble face. Crouching behind his pedestal was a little girl—his helper, Julia, I presumed—clutching a steak knife.
Terminus turned on us with such fury I feared he would zap us into stacks of customs declaration forms.
“Oh, it’s you,� he grumbled. “My borders have failed. I hope you’ve brought help.�
I looked at the terrified girl behind him, feral and fierce and ready to spring. I wondered who was protecting whom. “Ah…maybe?�
The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!�
“Or this statue!â€� said Julia.”
― Rick Riordan, The Tyrant’s Tomb