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Cyrus: "Let's be clear about something. I run a sausage factory."
Fitz: "Which makes me...sausage?"
Cyrus: "Handsome, highly qualified, smart, idealistic and energetic sausage. The stumping, electrifying speeches, baby kissing--that's all you. The nitty-gritty, morally bankrupt, back alley brawling rest of the game, that's me--it's filthy and thankless and it's my hallelujah, heroin, and reason to breathe and you--you don't have half the stomach for it."