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