I'm sticky but I'm not syrup. I can be big. I can also be tiny. I come in different colors however I'm not paint. What am I?

Lined with walls of privacy, Or, perhaps, proudly displayed. Gentle, tender, care for me, I'll give you things, Which you'll then claim to have made

I have a point but no particular view, I have lead but I cannot walk, I can draw and sketch for you. What am I?

I am a shallow traveler who sails in circles, never crossing the surface I explore. I carry currents of heat and flavor, yet I am rarely tasted myself. I can be silver at a feast or plastic at a roadside stop, equally trusted with a child’s first meal and a patient’s last. What am I?

I can mark the breaking point of patience, or the start of a decision made in an instant. I am small enough to be made by fingers, yet loud enough to end an argument. I can freeze a moment in memory, or cut a bond so it cannot be tied again. What am I?