I have a point but no particular view, I have lead but I cannot walk, I can draw and sketch for you. What am I?

I can mark the breaking point of patience, or the start of a decision made in an instant. I am small enough to be made by fingers, yet loud enough to end an argument. I can freeze a moment in memory, or cut a bond so it cannot be tied again. What am I?

You spit me out with your breath You burn me , adorn me , and make sheets of me Civilizations depend on me , for I am in all things living These are my many forms What is my true identity?

Plucked out of birds, I am now dipped in ink and used to write

I have legs but never walk, a back but never complain. I host tired humans, lonely pigeons, and forgotten gum. I hear secrets, watch joggers suffer, and get blamed for cold seats. In parks and courts I quietly sit - What am I, besides emotionally supportive furniture?