Some people strain me from their OJ drink, yet without me many books would never see ink.

I have an eye but I cannot see. Thread me up and sew with me. I am thin and sharp and small. I mend the holes in clothes for all. What am I?

I am full of stories but no one who lives there has ever done anything. I am quiet by rule and huge by design. Walk in and you can borrow the whole world. What am I?

I speak without a voice and draw without hands. I get shorter every time I say something. Sharpen me and I am reborn. Ignore me and I collect dust. What am I?

I run but never walk, I murmur, don’t talk, I have a bed but never sleep.