There was a thread on "most beautiful" some months ago.  Here is what
I posted then...

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  My immediate reaction was, "how do I *ever* decide", but after
watching the thread for a while, I decided to make two lists, one of
stuff that was obvious and easy to see, the other of stuff that was
more subtle.  I think I have a qualitatively different kind of
aesthetic reaction to subtle beauty than to more obvious kinds.
What's more, all the "obvious" stuff is guaranteed to draw a "wow!"
from newcomers, whereas much of the subtle stuff they may not be able
to see at all.  I decided to adopt the phrase "during your
starwatching session" from the body of the question as a guide to what
was allowed -- not all of these things are what most of us call "deep
sky objects".  And I wish I had had a chance to look at some of the
far southern-sky objects that many other posters have mentioned.

  Here is my "obvious" list, with comments, in no particular order.

  NGC 4565 -- An outstanding edge-on spiral; with modest aperture one
    can see disc with obscuring dust band, lens, and highly condensed,
    almost stellar, nucleus.
  The Orion Nebula -- An outstanding HII region with much detail in
    dust, gas, and stars, and with considerable color.
  Saturn -- My favorite planet that I can view as a celestial object
    (Earth might rate if I could see it from afar), also the first
    celestial object that I ever saw through a telescope.
  The Central Milky Way -- Another outstanding edge-on spiral, whose
    view is enhanced by the fact that we are inside it; one of my
    favorite things to do is show people NGC 4565 as it is sinking
    toward the western horizon on a late spring evening, point out
    the lens, disc, and dust band, then grab them by the shoulders,
    spin them around facing the Sagittarius Milky Way, and say,
    "And there's another one!"  Wow.
  Luna -- It's nice to see some topography now and then, and the
    view of our Moon through an amateur-sized telescope shows stuff
    down to approximately neighborhood size; I could resolve my daily
    walk to work if it were on the moon and had bright lights at
    both ends.
  The Pleiades -- Dazzling open cluster, with subtle nebulosity.
  Space Shuttle Reentry -- I saw Columbia on the way home in July
    1996.  To a pilot, the difference between her controlled flight,
    and the trajectory of a meteor or a piece of space debris, was
    obvious and thrilling.   As a kid science fiction fan, I always
    wanted to see a space ship landing on the Earth.  Now I have.
  Comet Hyakutake -- The intense nucleus and coma, shining linear inner
    tail, and swirling outer tail, stretching out half way across the
    sky, were enough to make me believe in star dragons.
  Mizar and Alcor -- Well-placed most of the year, this bright
    multiple star gives a hint of the dynamic range in brightness and
    separation that double stars exhibit.
  Omega Centauri -- Even from 37 degrees north, by far the best
    globular cluster in the sky, bright and easily resolved with
    modest aperture.

  Next, here is my "subtle" list, also with comments, also in no
particular order.

  The Veil Nebula -- The eastern and western arcs are not especially
    subtle, but the rich mass of nebulosity between then makes this
    supernova remnant rewarding to long hard looks in excellent sky.
  NGC 5053  -- This faint, low-surface-brightness globular, in the
    same low-magnification field as brighter M53, provides an
    interesting comparison of objects of this kind.
  Sirius B -- The Pup is not always wide enough to detect, even in
    great telescopes, but when it is, its subtlety provides a
    wonderful contrast to the dazzling primary.
  Leo I -- Nearby Regulus makes this dwarf galaxy hard to see, and
    emphasizes the low surface brightness of this class of object.
  Gamma-Two Andromeda -- Gamma Andromeda is another wide/narrow
    multiple star, with an interesting color contrast, in which the
    narrow pair is difficult or impossible in many amateur telescopes.
  The Star Queen -- This dark structure in M16 was made famous by the
    Hubble photograph in early 1996.  Its shape is discernable in
    largish amateur telescopes, and to my eye, is appropriate for the
    name.
  The Horsehead Nebula -- Also well-named and close to something bright.
    Too bad it wasn't known to any ancient culture -- this dark nebula
    deserves a good myth.
  K4-8 -- Amid a small telescopic asterism, a little arc of stars in
    Scutum, this small, moderately faint planetary seems like a charm
    on a bracelet.
  The Zodiacal Band -- If the Milky Way is the Great Sky River, this
    lane of dust in the ecliptic must be the most dried-up and arid of
    streams.  Perhaps the Counterglow is the spring from which it flows.
  NGC 4387 -- This relatively faint member of the Virgo Cluster of
    Galaxies lies centered in an equilateral triangle whose northern
    edge is bounded by bright M84 and M86, and whose southern point is
    NGC 4388.  The progression from Messier objects through two levels
    of increasing faintness always reminds me that there is always more
    to see, and puts me in mind of the line from the book version of
    _2001:_A_Space_Odyssey_,  "It goes on forever -- and it's full of
    stars."

  One particular event of beauty perhaps deserves a category of its own,
which I do not quite know how to name:

  A Submarine-Launched Ballistic Missile Test.  On May 14, 1988,
    observers set up at Fremont Peak State Park, overlooking
    Monterey Bay, were treated to a view of a missile launch from
    a submerged submarine, just at dusk.  The rising vehicle
    left the shadow of the world, and the exhaust plume changed
    from dirty gray to all the colors of sunset, then finally to
    dazzling white, as it arced along its trajectory.  The display
    of color put me in mind of Bifroste, the Rainbow Bridge of
    Norse mythology, over which the gods rode at Gotterdammerung,
    into the last battle, resolutely onward to the end of the world.
      We did not know it was a test.  For perhaps fifteen seconds,
    until it became clear that the vehicle was headed down the
    Pacific Missile Range, not inland, and that there was only one
    missile, not dozens, that balmy summer evening could indeed have
    been the Twilight of the Gods.

--

   Jay Reynolds Freeman -- free...@netcom.com -- I speak only for myself.