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