Tween heart-throb Justin Bieber is the center of attention on Twitter again, after a very brief exile.
On weekends music spills out on to the hot, crowded streets and pools into an indistinguishable throb.
The last of the evening light was an unreal throb of Kermit green.
Imagine then such a boat, blades plunging fast and furious, hundreds of times over to the throb of a drum.
Meanwhile on the right end of the political spectrum, Tea Party heart throb Michelle Bachman famously accused vaccines of causing autism.
While its colour-charged cities throb with the crowds and chaos of emerging India, the treasures of the past hold pride of place in mind and spirit.
Each season, Walt has made far less justifiable choices, each one changing him, with a throb of arrogance here, a swell of egotism there.
It started to throb a little bit throughout my second spell.
Suddenly transformed from art-house provocateur to heart-throb, Kassovitz took perhaps the most surprising role of his career, becoming the face of Lancome's Miracle Homme fragrance.
The researchers made their subjects' jaws throb by pumping a solution into a nearby muscle, then asked them to rate the severity of their discomfort.
The 475 members of the Golden Raspberry Award Foundation - a collection of movie fans and industry professionals - also found a prize for teenage heart-throb Leonard DicCaprio.
These are mean times and Clint looks as mean as they come, a man who gets his way just by squinting and letting that vein in his forehead throb with barely concealed rage.
He penned a heartbroken obituary on learning about the death on the Russian front of Karl-Heinz Bremer, the charming associate director of the German Institute in Paris and heart-throb of many a collabo homosexual.
In a ceremony for the winter solstice at the mountaintop monastery of Rumtek itself, drums throb, horns and conches low mournfully, and monks led by a cleric in elaborate robes and a huge black hat consign an offering to the bonfire.
From the opening moments when Russian heart-throb Dima Bilan, winner of last year's competition, flew above the crowd and smashed through a series of polystyrene walls in front of the stage, the audience knew it would be an extravagant and lavish evening.
Deep bass notes throb below flashbacks to a teen's disappearance in the '60s, and "prepared" pianos (old uprights that the duo customized and sometimes mutilated) evoke sprung clockwork and madness or perhaps the caffeine buzz induced by all the coffee that the characters drink.
And the drumming of fingers by the American government over the 500-odd property claims from ex-owners, mostly Nicaraguans, resident in the United States had become a deafening throb, accompanied by warnings that the Americans would suspend aid and block multilateral loans unless things were sorted out.
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