I drink far more than I can keep. One gentle squeeze, and all is lost.

I’m a tiny flash of light, A sparkle quick and bright. On metal, gems, or eyes I may appear. A fleeting shine that draws you near. What am I?

I’m warm beneath your feet beside the sea, and children build castles from pieces of me.

I come before deck, but after painters. I follow dispenser and roll. I may have one face, or favor both. What am I.

I devour plastic but have no life. I hold your names but have no voice. I fold faces without hurting them. I am often sat on, yet never broken. What single word am I?