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 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?

Some may refer to me as a valley but I think my name sounds sweeter My first letter matches the first of my color and I think that makes me neater

I’m a pit that’s not in the ground, on your body, in pairs I’m found. I’m a host for hair and lint, but may raise a stink that makes others squint.