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