I have no soil, yet plants can grow, I hold no crop, though seeds I sow. I stretch as far as light can bend, With north and south, but neither end. Battled on by minds or men, I hold position now and then. I can be seen through glass or screen, Or felt where magnets lie unseen.

I can hide in shells and even stretch through the sky, I follow a sequence found in nature's design, I carry life's secrets in a double line. What am I?

I'm a word of letters eight. Take away a letter and I still make a word. Take away another letter and I still make a word. Keep doing that until there's only one letter left, which still makes a word. What eight-letter word am I?

Why did the math book look sad? Because it had too many . . .

I have a thousand paths, but only one is true, I’ll twist your sense of direction and swallow up your view. I am built to lose you, though you seek my very core, And if you find the center, you must look for me once more.