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