Abby Whelan Quotes
Abby: If you take the stand, you could end up going to jail.
Olivia: And if I get married? What in the hell do you think this is?
You didn't want to tell me because you didn't think I'd be good enough at my job to handle it. Did you?
Olivia is doing what Olivia always does, sir. She's trying to stay out of the storm. It hasn't even really begun yet, the category V. It's been building, picking up strength ever since Sally released those photos. Right now it's somewhere out in the middle of the ocean, but the moment Liv stops running, the moment she steps back into the spotlight, that cyclone makes landfall and everything in her world gets violently swept away. That kind of pressure? That kind of scrutiny? It would be unbearable. Who could live through that? What kind of woman would choose to live through that? Olivia Pope is never going to tell you that she's okay with that kind of life, Mr. President, no matter how many times you ask.
Cyrus: He's not mad at you, he's frustrated at himself. He's a baby. What do babies do when they get frustrated?
Abby: Do I have a baby, Cyrus? Has anyone come out of me?
Cyrus: You don't ask your child when their bedtime is and you don't listen to your children when they say they don't want their vegetables. You threaten them and you make them eat their vegetables.
Abby: You're a terrible father.
[to Cyrus] Dammit, are you drunk? Are you day-drinking? Because I really need some help here!
It's Liv. She's the best in the business. The President's about to get Poped.
Abby: So Mellie Grant's run for Senate is legal because of misogyny. In this instance misogyny is our friend. Is that what you're saying?
David: No. No, I'm saying something less controversial and something less likely to get me stoned to death by my feminist sisters.
Olivia: Cyrus must be loving this.
Abby: He's like a stormchaser in a van hurling down the highway, face pressed up against the windshield, grinning wildly, waiting for everything to go to Hell and wanting to be there when it does.
Olivia: I've been in that van.
Huck: I pulled Michael's cell records, did a search for most-called numbers, came up with Phillip. Triangulated the cell phone towers to track him to the vicinity of his office servers and then hacked into their email. How did you find out?
Abby: I listened to all of Leo's voicemails while he was in the bathroom.
Huck: Well, that's one way to do it.
Abby: What happens to you happens to me. I'm good at my job, Leo. I am a lion up there. I own that room. I work for it. I give a strong briefing. And they write about that. They cover the news and there are articles about how well I do at my job. But they also write about me. If I wear lipstick, I'm dolled up. If I don't, I've let myself go. They wonder if I'm trying to bring dresses back and they don't like it when I repeat outfits even though I'm on a government salary. They discuss my hair color. There are anonymous blogs that say I'm too skinny. They have a running joke that I'm on a hunger strike until I'm liberated by the Democrats!
Abby: They also write about you. Every article that comes out about me has your name somewhere in it because apparently there's this rule that in order to write about me they also have to report to the world that there's a man who wants me. My work, my accomplishments, my awards, I stand at the most powerful podium in the world, but a story about me ain't a story unless they report on the fact that I am the girlfriend of 'D.C. fixer Leo Bergen' like it validates me, gives me an identity, a definition. They can't fathom the concept that my life doesn't revolve around you. My life doesn't revolve anywhere near you. It's horrifying. 'Property of Leo Bergen.' Tell me, Leo, when they write about you do they report on your clothes? Do they write about your thighs? There is a difference. There is. So what happens to you happens to me, which is why I'm writing a letter of resignation. Are we done?
Mellie: I'm running for Senator of Virginia.
Abby: Well, that's...history making. Good for you. Good for Virginia, ma'am.
Cyrus: You think so, Red?