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