I find it most often in fiction. Yesterday, when I couldn't work anymore, I took five minutes, ten, to re-read passages from Kay's Fionavar books. They arouse irresistible emotions in me -- joy, sorrow, deep contentment. I don't know how he does that.
I just revised the med-student-in-the-library scene. It's two pages -- and every time I read those two pages, I end up grinning. I love her attitude, her random irreverence, her spontaneity. I love his passion for old books, dusty libraries, his appreciation for a slow fall of winter snow. I love that they come together, briefly.