Fitz: We have to get Olivia back, not just because I love her, not just because having her out there is a threat to national security. There are soldiers who are never coming home because I tried to get her back. Someone's father, someone's husband. I have killed so many mothers' sons trying to get her back. The flags placed on the coffins where they lay are there because they had the courage to give their lives and I did not have the courage to give Liv's, so she has to come back because their sacrifice damn well has to mean something. They cannot have died for nothing. They cannot have gone to their death for no other reason than I asked them to.
Cyrus: We will get her back. I promise you sir, I will do everything in my power to make sure we get her back.

[to Liz] You and I both know you can't attempt to overthrow the American governemnt and then just skedaddle when it all blows up in your face.

Fitz: Thank you for your service, Cy. It's been an honor.
Cyrus: The honor, sir, was mine.

I was in the closet for 40 years. I spent four decades having sex with women, between the thighs of women, which I for one never enjoyed or quite understood. And that whole time I only ever slept with two men. One of them was the love of my life. The other was a prostitute, which was admittedly a terrible decision on my part.

[to Michael] You are now the most famous gay hooker in gay hooker history. You could write a book. Sell it to Hollywood. Play yourself in the porn version, "Inside Cyrus Beene."

Cyrus: Ironic, isn't it?
Olivia: What?
Cyrus: It's always the ones closest to us, the ones who say they care. They're the ones who do the most damage.

[to Olivia] Clients are plenty. Friends are few. Your friend is asking for help.

Jake Ballard is a predator, an animal, a killing machine. And just because you've decided to turn a blind eye to that doesn't make it any less true. So, your boyfriend--your other boyfriend--is currently being interrogated in the bowels of the Pentagon, where he will eventually confess to his crimes after which, it is my profound hope, he will be executed. And the next time you need me, the next time you want to chat, you will find me dancing on his grave.

Fitz: Mellie's in the residence.
Cyrus: Respectfully, sir, she's probably drunk, and in a coma from too much fried chicken. You're safe there.

Abby: You make it hard for me to do my job. You undermine me here with Olivia Pope at every turn. You keep secrets from me. You make me feel...small.
Cyrus: Red, there are things that happen here in this big White House with this particular President that you will never, ever know about. Some of those things, many of those things, will involve Olivia Pope. Several of those things will make it hard for you to do your job, but you are a patriot. You are a fighter. And so you will soldier on. As for feeling small, I don't do that to you. I suspect jealousy does that to you. My advice on that is this. You are not Olivia. You will never be Olivia. Hating Olivia for your own shortcomings will not change that fact.

Red, you are not in the bubble. Stay out of the First Lady's business.

Cyrus: Liv's on it.
Abby: You're not even a little concerned?
Cyrus: Oh, I'm concerned. I'm concerned that Fitzgerald Grant's second term as President of these United States is about to be derailed because his wife won't stop eating fried chicken long enough to put on a cocktail dress. I'm concerned that our enemies are sharpening their long knives for the rapidly approaching moment when it becomes acceptable to point out that maybe, just maybe, the President's homelife has begun to affect his decision making. I am concerned that everything I have devoted far more of my soul to than has ever been right or healthy or appropriate is about to come crashing down on a 16 year old's grave. But no, I am not concerned that Olivia Pope will fail. I am never concerned that Olivia Pope will fail.