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