„She dwells with Beauty — Beauty that must die;And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lipsBidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips.Ay, in the very temple of DelightVeil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongueCan burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,And be among her cloudy trophies hung.“

— John Keats

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„What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining."I’m glad Jay." Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.“
— F. Scott Fitzgerald
„Annabeth laced her fingers through his. In the light of his bronze sword, her face was beautiful.'We're together,' she reminded him. 'We'll get through this.“
— Rick Riordan