I am a thousand threads of what is possible. When it is threaded into string, my many becomes one, undeniable possibility and the rest impossible. I am always ahead, but my opposite is always behind. What am I?

A stint of warmth for dough not risen, A clue that sends the thief to prison. The reasoning behind why math is true, Or the stiffness of the drink you brew.

I start as easy as one two three, Then to five, eight, and thirteen, you see. Pure madness! How can any foresee? This sequence is the...

I'm a path of a constant curve. Distance is the thing I preserve. I'm unnoticed lest you observe.

I am broken through time, but don't lose heart. For they repaired me each time, replacing every part. Built anew though I still feel shame. For they still question, am I the same?