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