I am proof that washing machines have a favourite snack.

I have padded cups but hold no drink, I have a headband, but no hair to hold back. I sit on your ears to help you think, Or deliver the beats of a favorite track.

I’m caught between two, yet I’m not in the middle, I let things swing with a simple little fiddle. I can open the way, then close it once more, Quietly working beside every door. Without me, movement would be hard to arrange. What am I that lets things move and change?

I am given without permission and I can be taken without permission. Once obtained, I can't be given away but I can be discarded. Without me there is no you, yet I continue regardless of you. What am I?

I am a wall that loves to learn, I keep all lessons without a page. I am full when you write, empty when you wipe. What am I?