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