I sit in a corner, get cancelled before the journey begins, and may cross oceans stuck to someone else's words. What am I?

A gardener makes me larger by taking soil away, not by adding anything. What am I?

Ten seconds before midnight I make a room loud; ten seconds before an exam I make it silent. Same numbers, different feeling. What am I?

Lawyers build me, logicians test me, and one weak premise can make me collapse. What am I?

I am first in end, last in place, and appear four times in experience. What am I?

I am not written on a CV; comfort may hide me, pressure reveals me, and repeated choices build me slowly. What am I?

A lawyer builds me with facts, doubt weakens me, and proof can make me strong again. What am I?

Eight is correct after five plus three, wrong after five times three, and meaningless on a blank page. What am I?

Move me one place in an invoice and ten pounds becomes a hundred; I look tiny, but I can empty a budget. What am I?