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Isaacs Pull Request #2

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5c9cae4
first commit isaac css changed
IsaacSante Sep 14, 2020
cd80e27
stylechange
IsaacSante Sep 14, 2020
3cdddd2
font added
IsaacSante Sep 14, 2020
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IsaacSante Sep 14, 2020
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39 changes: 39 additions & 0 deletions css/style.css
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body{
margin: 0;
padding: 0;
color:rgb(70, 70, 70);
margin-top: 10%;
margin-bottom: 10%;
margin-left: 20%;
margin-right: 20%;
justify-content: center;
background-color: #EAE2B7;
font-family: 'Montserrat', sans-serif;
}

p{
font-size: 120%;
line-height: 200%;
}

.in{
line-height: 300%;
border-bottom: 5px solid #003049;

}

.head {
font-family: 'Lora', serif;
font-size: 200%;
color: #003049;
}

.quote{
color: #F77F00;
}

.quotenarrator {
color: #D62828;

}

16 changes: 9 additions & 7 deletions index.html
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<meta charset="utf-8">
<meta http-equiv="X-UA-Compatible" content="IE=edge">
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1">
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Lora&display=swap" rel="stylesheet">
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Lora&family=Montserrat&display=swap" rel="stylesheet">
<link rel="stylesheet" href="css/style.css">
</head>
<body>
<h1>The Garden of Forking Paths</h1>
<h1 class="head">The Garden of Forking Paths</h1>
<h2>by Jorge Luis Borges</h2>
<div id="intro">
<h3>
<h3 class="in">
Introduction
</h3>
<p>
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<span class="quote">“An astounding fate, that of Ts’ui Pên,”</span> Stephen Albert said. <span class="quote">“Governor of his native province, learned in astronomy, in astrology and in the tireless interpretation of the canonical books, chess player, famous poet and calligrapher—he abandoned all this in order to compose a book and a maze. He renounced the pleasures of both tyranny and justice, of his populous couch, of his banquets and even of erudition—all to close himself up for thirteen years in the Pavilion of the Limpid Solitude. When he died, his heirs found nothing save chaotic manuscripts. His family, as you may be aware, wished to condemn them to the fire; but his executor—a Taoist or Buddhist monk—insisted on their publication.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote narrator">‘We descendants of Ts’ui Pên,”</span> I replied, <span class="quote narrator">“continue to curse that monk. Their publication was senseless. The book is an indeterminate heap of contradictory drafts. I examined it once: in the third chapter the hero dies, in the fourth he is alive. As for the other undertaking of Ts’ui Pên, his labyrinth . . .”</span>
<span class="quotenarrator">‘We descendants of Ts’ui Pên,”</span> I replied, <span class="quotenarrator">“continue to curse that monk. Their publication was senseless. The book is an indeterminate heap of contradictory drafts. I examined it once: in the third chapter the hero dies, in the fourth he is alive. As for the other undertaking of Ts’ui Pên, his labyrinth . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote">“Here is Ts’ui Pên’s labyrinth,”</span> he said, indicating a tall lacquered desk.
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote narrator">“An ivory labyrinth!”</span> I exclaimed. <span class="quote narrator">“A minimum labyrinth.”</span>
<span class="quotenarrator">“An ivory labyrinth!”</span> I exclaimed. <span class="quotenarrator">“A minimum labyrinth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote">“A labyrinth of symbols,”</span> he corrected. <span class="quote">“An invisible labyrinth of time. To me, a barbarous Englishman, has been entrusted the revelation of this diaphanous mystery. After more than a hundred years, the details are irretrievable; but it is not hard to conjecture what happened. Ts’ui Pe must have said once: I am withdrawing to write a book. And another time: I am withdrawing to construct a labyrinth. Every one imagined two works; to no one did it occur that the book and the maze were one and the same thing. The Pavilion of the Limpid Solitude stood in the center of a garden that was perhaps intricate; that circumstance could have suggested to the heirs a physical labyrinth. Ts’ui Pên died; no one in the vast territories that were his came upon the labyrinth; the confusion of the novel suggested to me that it was the maze. Two circumstances gave me the correct solution of the problem. One: the curious legend that Ts’ui Pên had planned to create a labyrinth which would be strictly infinite. The other: a fragment of a letter I discovered.”</span>
Expand All @@ -100,13 +102,13 @@ <h3>
<span class="quote">“In a riddle whose answer is chess, what is the only prohibited word?”</span>
</p>
<p>
I thought a moment and replied, <span class="quote narrator">“The word chess.”</span>
I thought a moment and replied, <span class="quotenarrator">“The word chess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote">“Precisely,”</span> said Albert. <span class="quote">“The Garden of Forking Paths is an enormous riddle, or parable, whose theme is time; this recondite cause prohibits its mention. To omit a word always, to resort to inept metaphors and obvious periphrases, is perhaps the most emphatic way of stressing it. That is the tortuous method preferred, in each of the meanderings of his indefatigable novel, by the oblique Ts’ui Pên. I have compared hundreds of manuscripts, I have corrected the errors that the negligence of the copyists has introduced, I have guessed the plan of this chaos, I have re-established—I believe I have re-established—the primordial organization, I have translated the entire work: it is clear to me that not once does he employ the word ‘time.’ The explanation is obvious: The Garden of Forking Paths is an incomplete, but not false, image of the universe as Ts’ui Pên conceived it. In contrast to Newton and Schopenhauer, your ancestor did not believe in a uniform, absolute time. He believed in an infinite series of times, in a growing, dizzying net of divergent, convergent and parallel times. This network of times which approached one another, forked, broke off, or were unaware of one another for centuries, embraces all possibilities of time. We do not exist in the majority of these times; in some you exist, and not I; in others I, and not you; in others, both of us. In the present one, which a favorable fate has granted me, you have arrived at my house; in another, while crossing the garden, you found me dead; in still another, I utter these same words, but I am a mistake, a ghost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote narrator">“In every one,”</span> I pronounced, not without a tremble to my voice, <span class="quote narrator">“I am grateful to you and revere you for your re-creation of the garden of Ts’ui Pên.”</span>
<span class="quotenarrator">“In every one,”</span> I pronounced, not without a tremble to my voice, <span class="quotenarrator">“I am grateful to you and revere you for your re-creation of the garden of Ts’ui Pên.”</span>
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote">“Not in all,”</span> he murmured with a smile. <span class="quote">“Time forks perpetually toward innumerable futures. In one of them I am your enemy.”</span>
Expand All @@ -115,7 +117,7 @@ <h3>
Once again I felt the swarming sensation of which I have spoken. It seemed to me that the humid garden that surrounded the house was infinitely saturated with invisible persons. Those persons were Albert and I, secret, busy and multiform in other dimensions of time. I raised my eyes and the tenuous nightmare dissolved. In the yellow and black garden there was only one man; but this man was as strong as a statue . . . this man was approaching along the path and he was Captain Richard Madden.
</p>
<p>
<span class="quote narrator">“The future already exists,”</span> I replied, <span class="quote narrator">“but I am your friend. Could I see the letter again?”</span>
<span class="quotenarrator">“The future already exists,”</span> I replied, <span class="quote narrator">“but I am your friend. Could I see the letter again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
Albert rose. Standing tall, he opened the drawer of the tall desk; for the moment his back was to me. I had readied the revolver. I fired with extreme caution. Albert fell uncomplainingly, immediately. I swear his death was instantaneous—a lightning stroke.
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