I am round as a sphere but then become something else. I am also one hundred yards long, or even longer. What am I?

I look like you, but I am not you. You can blow me up or find me in a wallet. Share me or frame me, both are nice. What am I?

I have seven rings made of rock and ice, but you cannot wear them on your fingers. They are way, way too big. What am I?

You can play me with cards, but don’t burn me. Rest glasses on me or walk across me. What am I?

I am light and seem to have no substance at all. But even the strongest person in the world can’t hold me for very long. What am I?

We come in a set. We can dash or pour. If we’re too much, the serving is ruined. If we’re held back, the course is flat. What are we?

I can travel at nearly 100 miles per hour, but never leave the room. You can cover me up, but that doesn’t slow me down. You will not know if I come only once or again and again and again. What am I?

I can be open or closed, or big or small. I can reveal the truth or hide it. I am almost always welcome and can spring up unannounced. Everyone has one, but not everyone shares. Laughter comes after me. What am I?

People have stepped on me, but not many. I never stay full for long. I have a dark side. What am I?

You can touch me, but I can’t touch you back. You can see me, but I only reflect you and can never reject you. What am I?

I don’t have money, though I do have banks. I feed others, though I don’t eat. Cross me if you can, I won’t be mad. What am I?

I can be red or blue—I am always changing. I can ruin your day or lift you up. I am always with you except when you sleep. What am I?