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