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