A component library made of type and nothing else: every control, sign and ornament is set in words. Two typefaces, one accent and a great deal of space.
0nlyType tokens, the default font pair, the reset and the base pieces, with a Tailwind v4 theme bridge.
Source-generated instructions and component contracts for building with 0nlyType.
Questions you open. Ruled off, with a plus that winds into a cross as the question swells into a heading; or run in with their answers like a book's paragraphs; glossed in the outer column; or stood side by side as columns that widen.
A history of what happened, grouped by day: who, what, and a dotted leader to when, on one hairline down the margin. The newest carries the accent; the rest waits behind "and 4 more".
Talk to an agent. Its words are roman and yours arrive in italic; it asks before it acts, in a question you must answer, and it tells you what it is doing as a sentence that inks in.
Where an agent is, in one quiet line: a ring, a breath, a round, the accent disc or an ink disc, and the word for it.
A double bar: in a score, the sign that something changes here.
Choose the look: scheme, key and type pair as three lists of picks, and the answer written back as one sentence, “Cotton, in ultramarine, set in Archivo and Bodoni.”, which the night toggle finishes. The new page opens as a circle from whatever you touched.
Volume as a barcode: no fill, only hairlines dropped from the line to the baseline at a close, even rhythm.
A frame kept to a ratio and marked the way a printer marks a crop: short lines outside each corner, never a border.
A file's extension is its picture; a ring counts it in and fills to a dot when it's safe.
A person is a ring and their initial, in italic, since a name is theirs; or a monogram of both initials; or the given name set to fill one width.
The one rounded shape: a hairline pill for a tag or a status; or tags written as one list in the italic; or a seal with its legend set round a ring.
The path, divided by drawn hairlines leaning like slashes; or a stair that ends in the large italic of where you are; or a long path with a full stop for each step left out.
One family of three (a statement in an ink block, a bracket that steps apart, a quiet line that redraws), four heroes for the big call to action (overture, crescendo, stave and ink), and two measures: space and repeat. Nothing moves its neighbours.
A set of actions, drawn three ways: one pair of parentheses with hairlines between, a narrow column with a dash hung in the margin, or a list written into the sentence around it.
A month drawn as time, after the "28 December" poster: a huge numeral, then a large disc for every day, ink for the days gone, the accent for today, rings for the days to come, and half-moons for the wait. The ruler draws the same month as one measured line; the ghost sets the days against the date huge and faint behind them; the parenthesis runs the month as a line of figures with the wait in parentheses.
A paragraph that fills a shape, as Apollinaire's calligrams did: each line is as wide as the shape is at that height, so the outline is only implied. Or it falls as rain, or runs round a frame about one word.
A column under a rule, not a box. Point at it and an ink stroke passes along the rule.
One poster at a time, each name set so large the frame crops it. The count between the arrows rolls the way you travel.
Hairlines and dots against one very large number that rolls to the bar you point at.
No box. The words are the control, and checking strikes them through in the accent.
A list that ends in the rest of itself: the words "and 4 more" are the control.
A field that suggests. Type and the letters you typed are marked in each match, the suggestions arrive in turn, and what you chose sits on the line in italic; with multiple, your choices are written there as one sentence.
What you type is set as large as a headline, in italic. Matches are marked; the chosen row steps forward. Or every row set on one axis at its match, as a mesostic; or the groups run on, as a book's index.
One line to type, on a baseline like a field already filled in. The address recedes, the part that's yours is italic, and copying draws the line in the accent.
The same list of words, opened where you pressed and spreading from that point like ink.
A paragraph set to a contour, the way a score draws a swell: each line laid to its own width, so the words taper, open or swell and close.
Four corner marks: a frame that doesn't close.
Records you narrow with a sentence, sort by pressing a heading (the column turns ink and the rows glide), and page at a folio, or read on as the table ends in the rest of itself.
A date inside a sentence, like the select. It opens the month on a leader line; choose a day and it is written into the sentence in italic.
A number you turn to. The arc sets a few on a half circle and rolls to your choice; the tuner is a long scale on the rim of a wheel you turn by hand, by scroll or by key, and your number reads above it in italic. Dynamics sets the number at the size of its loudness, from niente to fff; the tumbler sets a whole number figure by figure, like the wheels of a lock.
The question, set large, with two plain answers. The page holds still behind it.
A sheet from below, lifted by the fermata's arc. Drag the arc down to put it away.
A list of words on the popover panel; the one you point at is marked with the highlighter.
Files, dropped or chosen. The area is only its corner marks, and files carried over it close them in; the sentence is a real file input, and what you hold is listed as attachments.
An invitation to act, not an apology: what is missing, and the one thing to do about it. Under half a zero, under the score's tacet, or on a page left blank on purpose.
No box, only a baseline. Your words arrive in italic, focus draws the accent from where you touched, and an error hangs from the line as a callout. Or your words are overprinted on a heavy label, or signed on a form's line.
A picture cropped to a ratio and marked like a printer's proof, its number, caption and credit set in type underneath or in the margin beside it.
Fields on the grid and one statement button. A failed send gives each field its callout and focuses the first; while sending, the button says so. Or write it as a letter with a postscript, or have it postmarked when it's sent.
A count set as a display fraction: yours large in italic, the total small beside it, a pen stroke between. A changed number turns over.
A line whose letters, words or rows start as dust, as the mirrored forme or wound in a coil, and settle into place as it scrolls into view, or step by step with the scroll, then give way to the real text.
A quiet structure behind a section: a faint square grid, or a fine point at each crossing, with a registration cross on each corner and the columns numbered and the rows lettered along the border, like a drafting sheet. It never moves.
Point at a name and wait a moment: a card opens with the name set large and cropped by its edge.
Ours in roman, yours in italic, on one line. The accent draws only under the part you type. Or your figure stands large with our words stacked beside it, or an arrow leads from your words to the action.
A one-time code on short baselines, three and three. Digits drop in as you type; whole, the lines ink in turn. Or the code closes up into one figure, or is read back in words under its digits.
A ledger line: what it is, a dotted leader, what you can do. Point at it and the leader inks across. Or every fifth line numbered in the margin; or the description running along the leader.
A key, drawn as the corners of its cap. Pressed, the corners close into the whole cap and it goes down a little.