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