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