Answer:
The dirtier I get, the whiter I am. What am I?
What is so delicate that saying its name breaks it?
I am always in front of you, but yet I am never here. What am I?
I wiggle and cannot see; sometimes underground and sometimes on a tree. I really don't want to be on a hook and I become a person when combined with “book”.
What goes through cities and fields but never moves?
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?