A hungry dog bites a dry bone.
A smiling face offers mercy; A troubled mind contains vicious poison.
Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?
Produce Mind Without attachment to anything.
To call heaven earth makes it earth? To name earth heaven makes it heaven?
Seek satori within yourself! Where else?
Once you preach, the point is gone.
Angry waves: not so dangerous as man's mind.
Day after day a very good day: Winds come and trees bow.
No ugliness in a loved child.
Need fire? Best strike a flint. Water? Dig a well.
When cold say cold; When hot say hot.
No good thought, no evil thought.
Not flattered by praise, not hurt by blame.
Ordinary mind is the Way.
With the slightest yes and no, Mind is lost in confusion.
Open your mouth— instantly wrong; Move your tongue— against the truth.
From the origins nothing exists.
Merciful words come out of the merciful mouth.
Ten thousand laws end in One : Don't stick to that, either!
The man who's drunk water Knows if it's cool or warm.
Where no Buddha, the Buddha works.
Rich food doesn't tempt the man who has eaten.
Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.
One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.
Fire is hot; water, cold.
Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.
Everything is true just as it is: Why dislike it? Why hate?
Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!
Spring comes: grass grows.
He dies, I die - Where can we meet?
Much understand, much problem. Little understand, little problem. Complete DON'T KNOW, no problem.
Seeking words, chasing phrases: When do you have time for satori?
Walking is Zen; sitting, too.
Never comparable to anything: How can I preach it?
From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.
Heaven, earth, and I: the same root. Everything and I: one thing.
Pictured rice cakes dissolve hunger?
It rains: the earth wet.
Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.
The Billion Worlds, a bubble on the sea; All Buddhas and Patriarchs, a flash of lightning.
One blind man leads many blind men Into the fire hole hand in hand.
However priceless, a piece of gold In the eye is nothing but grit.
Reach for it, and you'll miss; let it loose, and it'll follow.
Coming back with satori but everything just as before: Hermit Mountain's drizzle and mist, Crooked River's waves . . .
Sitting motionless, nothing happening — Spring coming, grass growing.
All things that exist are like a dream, a phantom, a bubble, a reflection; they are like dew or lightning; thus should you view them.
What is the color of the wind? Where does the rain come from?
Killing or vivifying is in these hands.
Meeting Sakyamuni, kill him! Meeting Bodhidharma, kill him, too!