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