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