rose-coloured

I was on Charlie Rose recently, and in discussing Marilyn Monroe he asked, what do you think was her great appeal?

Bits of paper blew aimlessly about, wafted by a little, feverish breeze, which rose in spasms and died away.

There was no vivacity in his putty-coloured features, but there were promptitude and decision in every abrupt gesture.

The women at once rose and began to shake out their draperies and relax their muscles.

We all rose to our feet, and he shook hands with everybody without waiting to be introduced.

A sob rose in her throat, and broke from her lips transformed into a trembling, sharp, glad cry.