References in classic literature ?
Jurgis had not known this, or he would have swallowed the stuff in desperation; as it was, every nerve of him was aquiver with shame and rage.
When Morse, for instance, was tacking up his first little line of wire around the Speedwell Iron Works, who could have foreseen two hundred and fifty thousand miles of submarine cables, by which the very oceans are all aquiver with the news of the world?
ARCHERY fans will be all aquiver this afternoon as the ranking rounds of the men's and women's individual and team competitions begin in Rio, writes James Milton.
2) This property gossip has to assume Quentin Tarantino is just aquiver with glee that his next-door neighbors, screenwriter Alan Ball and actor Peter Macdissi.
The smell of those lush, emerald blackcurrant leaves alone is enough to set my heart aquiver - that scent is the same one gets with a really fresh, crisp New Zealand sauvignon blanc - and it means that the fruit is at peak freshness.
Tail aquiver, we poured downtrunk and flooded the forest floor.
And the way she did this her eyes wild with fervour, her body aquiver with delight was an encouragement of passion and a validation of the pleasure to be wrung from art.
Culture writer Barbara Hodgson ventured forth onto the Lambton Estate in County Durham and came back with her eyes shining and her typing fingers all aquiver.
Ray (and his remarkable team, including the "touched-by-the-angels" Sally Ann Parsons) was, like me, aquiver with excitement as we prepared for the great Lillian's first fitting.
We watched the pointer frozen in place; finely sculpted head up and pushed tonN-ard, tail slightly oft high noon, muscular body aquiver with the intensity of his point.
We don't care about George and we don't care about his conquests and it's hard to see how such a pale waif could send so many thighs aquiver.
THE NIGHTINGALE The nightingale sang in the top of the tree A beautiful tune such a sweet melody He sang at six and he sang at seven And his beautiful voice reached up to heaven He sang at eight and he sang at nine In a voice that can only be described as divine I listened enthralled in the summer night air To that sweet little bird who hadn't a care My emotions were torn, heart strings aquiver At the sweetest of sounds that bird did deliver I stood there and listened, oh