They used to joke: in the USSR there are two types of love - when a man loves a woman, that’s when he wants her, and when the party loves the people, but this is constant. And really, how different love can be. One grows slowly, the other flashes like lightning. One forever, the other until a new skirt, or whatever it is that drives men and women crazy. Early and late, timid and all-crushing, gentle and violent... you can’t list it all. Because everyone has their own.