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