Riddle: What does man love more than life? Fear more than death or mortal strife? What do the poor have, what the rich require, And what contented men desire? What does the miser spend, the spendthrift save, And all men carry to their graves?
Riddle: Sometimes I am black, sometimes I am white sometimes you can see me at night. I have friends that are with me that are much smaller. Some of you have walked on me but not all. What am I?
Riddle: I cannot be felt, seen or touched; Yet I can be found in everybody; My existence is always in debate; Yet I have my own style of music. What Am I?