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