The Replacements

American Horror Story: Coven

3×3

& Fiona: They say when a new Supreme starts to flower, the old Supreme begins to fade. You’ve been fading Anna Leigh.

& Fiona: It’s a dance, a dance no one ever had to teach me. A dance I’ve known since I first saw my reflection in my father’s eyes. My partners have been princes and starving artists, Greek gods and clowns. And everyone of them certain they lead. But it’s always my dance. I make the first move, which is no move at all. I’ve always just understood that they will eventually find themselves in front of me. Primitive, beautiful animals. Their bodies responding to the inevitability of it all. It’s my dance and I have performed it with finesse and abandon with countless partners. Only the faces change. And all this time, I never suspected the night would come when the dance would end.

& Fiona: If I am going to commit to butchery, I want to see exactly how the sausage is made.

& Nan: He’s cute.
    Queenie: Like butter on a stick.

& Madame LaLaurie: That magic box lies. Somebody... somebody in there... they just said that... that-that Negro... is the President of the United States.
    Fiona: I voted for him. Twice. We’ve also had black secretaries of states, Supreme Court justices, and even the poet laureate.
    Madame LaLaurie: Liesssss.
    Fiona: You know, you’ve got a lot to learn.

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& Fiona: Congratulations, kiddo. You... are the new maid.

& Fiona: You know, Delphine, from now on you are gonna be Queenie’s personal slave. And, Queenie, you ask her to do whatever you need done: make your bed, scrub your toilet. I don’t give a shit.
    Queenie: Sweet.
    Fiona: There’s nothing I hate more than a racist.

& Misty Day: That’s the thing. Can’t be your best self until you find your tribe.

& Fiona: Madison. Have you got a light?

& Cordelia: Marie? If you know who I am, then you know I am well-aware of the Pochaut Medecine.
    Marie Laveau: Hmm. Then you know that spell ain’t no picnic for anyone involved.

& Queenie: My problem ain’t food, you dumb bitch. It’s love. Dr. Phil says that kids from broken homes use food to replace love. It’s comforting.
    Madame LaLaurie: Well, I think you best look for a new physician.

& Fiona: Let me give you some advice. Get your portrait painted when you’re young.

& Fiona: Bury her deep. God knows what all that shit in her body will do to the lawn when it comes up in the spring.

& Fiona: This coven doesn’t need a new Supreme. It needs a new rug.

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On the IMDb