“As a woman I have no country. As a woman I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.” ― Virginia Woolf
I think a woman as a creature of magic. She has too much love to give from her heart that the love won’t be ever consumed. She could relentlessly love a stray cat, so much that she would cry a river over its deathbed. She could effortlessly love an unborn child, not that the child is hers; just her mate’s, but still she loves the baby anyway.