text_original: Amidst those memories of two thousand years ago, Vera felt as if life were so brief and petty a thing, such a mere moment in the infinity of time, that no individual story, no single existence, with its single grief, no wrong done, could be a thing to lament or to brood over.
text_transcription: AMIDST THOSE MEMORIES OF TWO THOUSAND YEARS AGO VERA FELT AS IF LIFE WERE SO BRIEF AND PETTY A THING SUCH A MERE MOMENT IN THE INFINITY OF TIME THAT NO INDIVIDUAL STORY NO SINGLE EXISTENCE WITH ITS SINGLE GRIEF NO WRONG DONE COULD BE A THING TO LAMENT OR TO BROOD OVER
phonemes: ɐmˈɪdst ðoʊz mˈɛmɚɹiz ʌv tˈuː θˈaʊzənd jˈɪɹz ɐɡˈoʊ, vˈiəɹə fˈɛlt æz ɪf lˈaɪf wɜː sˌoʊ bɹˈiːf ænd pˈɛɾi ɐ θˈɪŋ, sˈʌtʃ ɐ mˈɪɹ mˈoʊmənt ɪnðɪ ɪnfˈɪnᵻɾi ʌv tˈaɪm, ðæt nˈoʊ ˌɪndᵻvˈɪdʒuːəl stˈɔːɹi, nˈoʊ sˈɪŋɡəl ɛɡzˈɪstəns, wɪð ɪts sˈɪŋɡəl ɡɹˈiːf, nˈoʊ ɹˈɔŋ dˈʌn, kʊd biː ɐ θˈɪŋ tə lɐmˈɛnt ɔːɹ tə bɹˈuːd ˈoʊvɚ.