Much understand, much problem. Little understand, little problem. Complete DON'T KNOW, no problem.
No good thought, no evil thought.
Ordinary mind is the Way.
Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?
Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!
From the origins nothing exists.
Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.
Day after day a very good day: Winds come and trees bow.
Seek satori within yourself! Where else?
A hungry dog bites a dry bone.
Merciful words come out of the merciful mouth.
Pictured rice cakes dissolve hunger?
Worldly passions inseparable from satori.
Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.
The man who's drunk water Knows if it's cool or warm.
Walking is Zen; sitting, too.
Rich food doesn't tempt the man who has eaten.
Killing or vivifying is in these hands.
When cold say cold; When hot say hot.
A smiling face offers mercy; A troubled mind contains vicious poison.
Spring comes: grass grows.
Reach for it, and you'll miss; let it loose, and it'll follow.
Heaven, earth, and I: the same root. Everything and I: one thing.
Open your mouth— instantly wrong; Move your tongue— against the truth.
Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.
Meeting Sakyamuni, kill him! Meeting Bodhidharma, kill him, too!
Everything is true just as it is: Why dislike it? Why hate?
Once you preach, the point is gone.
Angry waves: not so dangerous as man's mind.
Fire is hot; water, cold.
Watch your own steps!
Need fire? Best strike a flint. Water? Dig a well.
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.
Never comparable to anything: How can I preach it?
With the slightest yes and no, Mind is lost in confusion.
Not flattered by praise, not hurt by blame.
However priceless, a piece of gold In the eye is nothing but grit.
One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.
It rains: the earth wet.
To call heaven earth makes it earth? To name earth heaven makes it heaven?
From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.
Where no Buddha, the Buddha works.
He dies, I die - Where can we meet?
No ugliness in a loved child.
Seeking words, chasing phrases: When do you have time for satori?
What is the color of the wind? Where does the rain come from?
Coming back with satori but everything just as before: Hermit Mountain's drizzle and mist, Crooked River's waves . . .
Sitting motionless, nothing happening — Spring coming, grass growing.
One blind man leads many blind men Into the fire hole hand in hand.
The Billion Worlds, a bubble on the sea; All Buddhas and Patriarchs, a flash of lightning.