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