text_original: We grow old in an instant with the most melancholy form of old age: we grow old in experience, and we lose the most beautiful illusion of a life whose only beauty lies in its illusions.
text_transcription: WE GROW OLD IN AN INSTANT WITH THE MOST MELANCHOLY FORM OF OLD AGE WE GROW OLD IN EXPERIENCE AND WE LOSE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL ILLUSION OF A LIFE WHOSE ONLY BEAUTY LIES IN ITS ILLUSIONS
phonemes: wiː ɡɹˈoʊ ˈoʊld ɪn ɐn ˈɪnstənt wɪððə mˈoʊst mˈɛləŋkˌɑːli fˈɔːɹm ʌv ˈoʊld ˈeɪdʒ: wiː ɡɹˈoʊ ˈoʊld ɪn ɛkspˈiəɹɪəns, ænd wiː lˈuːz ðə mˈoʊst bjˈuːɾifəl ɪlˈuːʒən əvə lˈaɪf hˌuːz ˈoʊnli bjˈuːɾi lˈaɪz ɪn ɪts ɪlˈuːʒənz.