Can anyone find me a few good passages about Guo Jingming?

I've only watched "How Much Do You Know About the Flowers in Your Dreams", and I can't help you.

Time reversed into a red morning mist, and day and night gradually equalized.

I began my lonely years in a world that you had long forgotten, with my eyes closed, my ears blindfolded, and my tears in my eyes, and I couldn't see you as much as I couldn't see the world.

Darkness engulfs tens of billions of planets like a tidal wave. Sunflowers die in large patches. Migratory birds come in flocks for funerals.

One heavy voyage after another with no way to see.

Who waved his hand expressionlessly, and then cut off the world from then on.

What is silent is your reluctance. And your pale side face.

The world never wakes up, it sleeps quietly under the collar of your shirt.

The world presents the light when it bursts, shining on the once faint youth and the years of separation.

The irises climbed all the hillsides and watched the black Psalms coming.

Those who sang legends in the poems that circulated, those who sang legends in the legends, and those people who raised countless journeys in countless eyes.

Mixed with youth and a happy past, the origin is unknown, the way is unknown, and in the ritual of returning along the way, the wizards have applied shiny gold paint and silver powder.

The layers of time are folded into eternity by the earth's crust.

The long boots that the poet had left behind in the mountains were soaked in the dew before sunrise.

The years that have come and gone, revealing chapters that have not been rubbed.

In the morning light, there is a reluctance to give up, and a future full of light and shadow.

The lying body flowers in the four seasons, and the body is skinned and melts into mountains and rivers.

The road you walked so many years ago is now full of sorrowful lakes, and the plateau you climbed many years ago is now sleeping in the depths of the earth's crust.

The stories of those moments are all folded into a chapter on the page.

The years are not dead, and the summer is over.

Those who plant flowers become flower watchers, and those who look at flowers become people who bury flowers.

And the fact that the wasteland has become an oasis is something I can't be happy about.

Only your sadness or happiness can amplify the air to the sound of rain hitting the keys.

In the dark valley, re-polish the flickering light.

Those secluded secret jungles, covered with layers of fallen leaves for thousands of years.

Pearls that shine under fallen leaves.

It's the eyes that you lost your sight all those years ago.

ps: From the summer solstice, I like the book written by Xiao Si very much, I was lazy last time and played the second half, make up for it

For those in the train, we kids lying on the platform by the tracks.

It's just a very ordinary picture in the scenery whistling by window by window, but they don't know how many times those children who lie down and look up at the sky have secretly cried.

When the days become the old**When the old** becomes a memory, we become passers-by who walk back to back, along different directions, stubbornly step by step away, there is no Athens, there is no Rome, there is no way back.

I am a child who looks up at the sky when I feel lonely, at the big sun, at the big moon, at the sore neck, at the tears in my eyes. It's true, good boys don't tell lies.

Lin Lan: There is a word called "things are people", which is the most vicious word I have ever seen.

Match: Actually, anyone who looks at me will be sad, because one morning, when I got up to brush my teeth, I suddenly found in the mirror that my temples were white, like a frost covered with the cold frost of Beijing winter. I cried as I stood in front of the mirror with my toothbrush in my mouth, and that was the first and only time I cried in prison.

I felt very uncomfortable, I had never felt it before.

I felt that the world suddenly fell into a piece out of thin air, and then the night filled in like ink, the sound disappeared, and all the future seemed to be buried in the deep riverbed, a thousand meters under the thick silt of the riverbed, and then a thousand meters above the water, and there was no daylight.

It's as if someone with a knife pinpointed our weakest and most undefended part and gently stabbed it, then pulled it out, the flesh blurred, and then stabbed it in again, until at last the pain became numb, now it became blurred, and the future became no one can know the end.

Graduation is a windowpane of glass, we have to smash it, and then we will walk through the sharp shards, and start a completely different life after the flesh and blood are blurred.

In the days when the black wind blows, in the days when I see the snowbirds breaking through the sky and screaming, in the smiles you look up and down, in the cracks and gaps of thousands of years, I always burst into tears. Because I always think of you, is it the cruelest and gentlest captivity?