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