Seriousness (n.) about love, says Constantin, lands a man not among the depraved but reduced ad absurdum, rendered beatific by nonsense — he has made a fool of himself.
Seriousness (n.) is not sweating and turning red in the face — the perspirer is merely too stupid to laugh — any more than the asinine stare is religiousness.
Seriousness (n.) is first and last self-assurance: he who relies on another's testimony to prove he is serious is not serious.
Seriousness (n.) is not a simplex but a compositum: true seriousness is the unity of jest and seriousness — as in Socrates, the most serious man in Greece, whose seriousness was hidden in jest.
Seriousness (n.) is earned, in the world's eyes, by forgetting the only serious matter — maintaining your relation to God by becoming nothing.
Seriousness (n.) is the only mood that fits sin; drag sin into aesthetics and it turns frivolous or melancholy, into metaphysics and it turns indifferent.
Seriousness (n.) when busy and money-making can be disconsolateness in disguise, the light of the spirit gone out; better to have lost one's senses.
Seriousness (n.) that cannot humble itself is not genuinely serious.
Seriousness (n.) is counteracting one's own effort in the act — like the pressure on the plough that sets the depth of the furrow; direct effort is a slurring-over, quicker and more thankful, because it is worldliness.
Seriousness (n.) redefined as busying oneself with interpretation is the one thing the almighty king could not forgive: he might pardon disobedience, or a petition for relief, but not altering what counts as seriousness.