A Quote by Alisson

I've locked myself in my room and wanted to be on my own a lot in my career, but I don't do that anymore. — © Alisson
I've locked myself in my room and wanted to be on my own a lot in my career, but I don't do that anymore.
I told myself that I wanted to be a motivational speaker, I wanted to write a book, graduate college, have my own family, and have my own career.
David Roberts, who is a writer at Vox who I like, had a line about the voter - your voters weren`t locked in the room with you, Republican establishment. You were locked in the room with them.
A lot of times, in the beginning of my career, I put pressure on myself just because I wanted to perform so well. I just wanted to be perfect.
Puberty was very vague. I literally locked myself in a room and played guitar.
Later on, when I tried to imagine how I might have ruined things, that would occur to me - that I'd so rarely resisted, that I hadn't made it hard enough for him. Maybe it was like gathering your strength and hurling your body against a door you believe to be locked, and then the door opens easily - it wasn't locked at all - and you're standing looking into the room, trying to remember what it was you thought you wanted.
I admired and wanted to be a lot like Angie Martinez. As I got older, I realized that I had a soft monotone voice and that being a DJ may not be the career for me. However, I was so in love and infatuated with hip-hop that I still wanted to be a part and give back the community, so I decided to carve my own path and make my own lane.
I wanted a new experience, to learn another language. I wanted to be different. I wanted people to realise I'm taking my coaching career very seriously. I wanted to create my own pathway.
There was a time in my career when I felt like I wasn't being true to myself. I was being moulded into an artist I wasn't, and I knew I had to do everything I wanted to do. I think that's an issue a lot of women face, and men do have it easier in a lot of ways.
My father - a Lebanese-origin small businessman - had a stroke in 1997 and couldn't work anymore. I paused my career and made sure he was taken care of by overseeing the sale of his businesses, but after that, I was able to dedicate myself to politics. It's what I had always wanted.
As I grew older and got into the late teens and early 20s, I wanted to be a voice of the people. You know, getting locked up all the time and going through so much oppression and seeing it all around myself, I wanted to be a voice for it.
So I did that for a long time in my career, and I waited for parts to play myself just physically down a little bit. But I do feel like I'm at a place in my career now where I don't necessarily fret about that too much anymore.
A locked-room problem lies at the heart of my new novel, 'In The Morning I'll Be Gone,' in which an RUC detective has to find out whether a publican's daughter who fell off a table in a bar that was locked from the inside was in fact murdered.
It [my vocal] didn't sound like what I wanted to hear; the vibrato isn't what I liked anymore. So I got myself to an ear, nose and throat guy who does a lot of work with singers, and I was hoping there was a big wart on my vocal cords or something and they could scrape it off and I could have the voice I wanted. But he said, "No, for 71, that's your voice."
When a locked-room mystery doesn't work, the solution makes you groan, and the book gets hurled across the room.
I've always treated my career like independent. Everything that I got is because of myself, my own endorsements, my own touring myself.
When we sat down to eat I took inventory of the people in the room, and the remnants of my good mood evaporated when I realized how very little I had in common with them – the career dads, the responsible and diligent moms – and I was soon filled with dread and loneliness. I locked in on the smug feeling of superiority that married couples give off and that permeated the air – the shared assumptions, the sweet and contented apathy, it all lingered everywhere – despite the absence in the room of anyone single at which to aim this.
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