Irving Stone paired it with agony in a biographical novel about Michelangelo. It is a drug you might find at a rave. What a devoted fan feels when their team wins the championship.

I give you wings but can’t truly fly. I’m also famous for a question no one can answer. What am I?

Sounds like you either have a bull in your house or you've been shot? I just have a brief report to share

At night, when the silence draws near, I summon your shadows to leer. I dwell in your chest, Denying you rest. I’m the whisper that none wants to hear.

I live on your desk. Straight, black. Keep things together. Watch out for my bite.