More Dear

I was talking to a coworker today about how certain things are made more dear by the price we pay for them. And as I was walking by the cube of the girl mentioned in the post previous I wondered if my viewings of her do not increase in value to me based on their rarity and how hard it is for me to get them. They are limited to chance encounters, or me walking by her cube and peaking through the narrow gap where the partitions come together, a lucky glimpse of her face. These things are valuable to me, they are meaningful.

The things that come easy are soon forgotten, but the prizes fought and bleed for... we hold them close for ages.

To quote:

We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.