Gutter Press

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followandreblog:

This campaign, “Become Someone Else” by the Lithuanian Agency called Love for Mint Vinetu is a clever concept, well executed. Here is what they said about it,

“When one reads books, he/she starts living it and identifies (or not) with main hero. These print ads for the Mint Vinetu bookstore, which sells lots of classics, focuses on the idea of becoming someone else. And provokes people to try on different personas.”

"

Well, that’s depressing.

If you read one book a week, starting at the age of 5, and live to be 80, you will have read a grand total of 3,900 books, a little over one-tenth of 1 percent of the books currently in print.

"

— Lewis Buzbee, The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop (via prettybooks)

Dear blank, please blank

the-absolute-funniest-posts:

Follow this blog, you will love it on your dashboard

(Source: devoureth)

bohemiancupcake:

The Exclamation Comma. “Just because you’re excited about something doesn’t mean you have to end the sentence.”

14 Punctuation Marks You Never Knew Existed

(Source: theweekmagazine)

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pratt:

Berkeley London - Package Design

heartworm

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

yeahwriters:

thecoolsumist:

Typography Jokes by Gary Nicholson

“Personal Project to design a series of posters with typographically focused puns to lift the spirits of fellow designers.”

Omg I must have all of these.

"When I was little, I didn’t understand that you could change a few sounds in a name or a phrase and have it mean something entirely different. When I told teachers my name was Benna and they said, “Donna who?” I would say, “Donna Gilbert.” I thought close was good enough, that sloppiness was generally built into the language. I thought Bing Crosby and Bill Crosby were the same person. That Buddy Holly and Billie Holiday were the same person. That Leon Trotsky and Leo Tolstoy were the same person. It was a shock for me quite late in life to discover that Jean Cocteau and Jacques Cousteau were not even related. Meaning, if it existed at all, was unstable and could not survive the slightest reshuffling of letters. One gust of wind and Santa became Satan. A slip of the pen and pears turned into pearls. A little interior decorating and the world became her twold, an ungrammatical and unkind assessment of an aging aunt in a singles bar. Add a d to poor, you got droop. It was that way in biology, too. Add a chromosome, get a criminal. Subtract one, get an idiot or a chipmunk. That was the way with things. When you wanted someone to say, “I love you,” approximate assemblages—igloo, eyelid glue, isle of ewe—however lovely, didn’t quite make it. “You are my honey bunch” was not usually interchangeable with “You are my bunny hutch.” In a New York suburban bathroom, early in the morning, a plea for sight could twist, grow slightly, re-issue itself as an announcement of death."

—

Lorrie Moore, Anagrams (via hannahkessel)

I’m in the middle of rereading this, and it is just as lovely as before.

(via onehundreddollars)