Typography check

Headline 1

Note that headline 1 does not appear in the table of contents, as it is already served as the post title. Summaries, overviews, or quick asides should go here.

Headline 2

Main section headline used for contents sidebar navigation.

Headline 3

Section sub-headline used for contents sidebar navigation.

4 5 and 6 do not appear in the contents sidebar unless anchor linked.

Headline 4

Headline 5

Headline 6

These are italics

This is bold

Ordered List

1. First Item
2. Another Item
3. Yet a third item.

Unordered List

• Any items
• Can really go here
• Like so

Look again at that [pale, blue] dot. That’s here. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you’ve ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there, on a mote of dust suspended on a sunbeam.

– Carl Sagan

Body copy looks like this. It does not line-break unless double-returned.

To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to: ‘tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub: For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause—there’s the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th’unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovere’d country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.

An inline code section

The front matter for posts:

---
layout: post
title: Typography check
categories: other
tags: typography site design
date: 2026-04-06 19:04 -0700
---