I've little strength, but mighty powers;

I guard small hovels and great towers.

But if perchance my master leaves,

He must ensure he safeguards me.

What is it?

There's someone that I'm always near,

Yet in the dark I disappear.

To this one only I am loyal,

Though in his wake I'm doomed to toil.

He feels me not (we always touch);

If I were lost, he'd not lose much.

And now I come to my surprise,

For you are he - but who am I ?

I'm often held, yet rarely touched;

I'm always wet, yet never rust;

I'm sometimes wagged and sometimes bit;

To use me well, you must have wit.

What am I?

It stands alone, with no bone or solid form.

Adamant, it prospers never wrong,

though hurt it may.

Twistable, malleable, might it be,

but always straight as an arrow.

What is it?

What does man love more than life,

hate more than death or mortal strife;

That which contented men desire,

the poor have, the rich require;

The miser spends, the spendthrift saves,

and all men carry to their graves?

What is it?

A long snake

With a stinging bite,

I stay coiled up

Unless I must fight.

What am I?

In the eyes it causes blindness,

in the nose just a sneeze;

Yet some suck this down,

and act as if pleased.

What is it?

Is it smoke?

This is the riddle that comes up if you search for the hardest possible riddle. Is there anyone clever enough to come up with an answer?

I turn polar bears white
and I will make you cry.
I make guys have to pee
and girls comb their hair.
I make celebrities look stupid
and normal people look like celebrities.
I turn pancakes brown
and make your champagne bubble.
If you squeeze me, Ill pop.
If you look at me, youll pop.

Can you guess the riddle?

I'm a strange contradiction; I'm new, and I'm old,

I'm often in tatters, and oft decked with gold.

Though I never could read, yet lettered I'm found;

Though blind, I enlighten; though loose, I am bound,

I'm always in black, and I'm always in white;

I'm grave and I'm gay, I am heavey and light-

In form too I differ - I'm thick and I'm thin,

I've no flesh and bones, yet I'm covered with skin;

I've more points than the compass, more stops than the flute;

I sing without voice, without speaking confute.

I'm English, I'm German, I'm French, and I'm Dutch;

Some love me too fondly, some slight me too much;

I often die soon, though I sometimes live ages,

And no monarch alive has so many pages.

What am I?