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