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