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