I grow by subtraction, sharpen when challenged, and vanish when assumed. I cannot be stored, only exercised. Measured constantly, yet never directly seen. What am I?

I build my kingdom while you rest, weaving tales beyond the light, a realm where colours cry and mountains fly. I have no weight, but hold you fast, Until the morning light is cast. I am the film that fades away, Yet leaves you thinking all the day.

My name means 'fresh' in Italian, but I am often centuries old. I am not painted on the wall; I become the wall itself as the plaster dries. What am I?

Ten dollars, no, nine! Too low, have to decline. How much did you have in mind? How about twenty? No way! I can get buy it brand new. What is this verbal dance that buyers and sellers do?

I am a tower built of layers, held between two matching walls. I’m the hero of the lunchbox, but I fall apart if you lose your grip.