I wear a tiny hat but have no head, I protect your finger from needle and thread. I have many dimples but I never smile, Keeping you safe from sharp points all the while. What am I?

I speak with a smirk, a bite in my bark. I mimic the truth, but leave my own mark. What am I, when humor's my art?

Did you hear about the cartoonist who was found dead at his home? They say the details were . . .

I have a sole, but cannot walk, I have a tongue, but cannot talk. Though often paired, I'm rarely sought, Unless your weary feet are caught.

I was born to chase horizons, Racing storms no man could tame. Kingdoms waited for my cargo, And distant ports all knew my name. The seas released me from their grip. What once outran the wind itself, Now passes lightly by your lip. What once was measured out in miles, Is now measured out in hair. What am I?