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Here is an idea, intentionally simplified to a point beyond the possibility of its being true.
There are two kinds of admirable art. One produces pleasure for the recipient insofar as he is a recipient of a certain kind; let's call this art "good", and the better the kind of person, the better the art. The other produces pleasure insofar as it is good and then insofar as it is perceived as not aimed at any particular kind of recipient, even if it could in fact only please an audience of the recipient's kind; let's call this art "great", and the more apparently impersonal the art and disinterested the pleasure the greater the art.
So how does type ideally respond, in making verbal art physical, to greatness? It cannot now be a matter of matching the personality of the writing, since a fundamental quality of the art is its refusal of directed personality. Here's a famous example to focus thought, from a response to tragic death in Cymbeline. The stanza is wholly inappropriate, and in the last couplet meta-inappropriate:
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.