The Billion Worlds, a bubble on the sea; All Buddhas and Patriarchs, a flash of lightning.
Fire is hot; water, cold.
Walking is Zen; sitting, too.
It rains: the earth wet.
To call heaven earth makes it earth? To name earth heaven makes it heaven?
He dies, I die - Where can we meet?
Everything is true just as it is: Why dislike it? Why hate?
A smiling face offers mercy; A troubled mind contains vicious poison.
The man who's drunk water Knows if it's cool or warm.
A hungry dog bites a dry bone.
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.
Meeting Sakyamuni, kill him! Meeting Bodhidharma, kill him, too!
Open your mouth— instantly wrong; Move your tongue— against the truth.
What is the color of the wind? Where does the rain come from?
Spring comes: grass grows.
However priceless, a piece of gold In the eye is nothing but grit.
No ugliness in a loved child.
From the origins nothing exists.
Need fire? Best strike a flint. Water? Dig a well.
Ordinary mind is the Way.
Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!
Seeking words, chasing phrases: When do you have time for satori?
Killing or vivifying is in these hands.
One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.
Worldly passions inseparable from satori.
Heaven, earth, and I: the same root. Everything and I: one thing.
From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.
Merciful words come out of the merciful mouth.
With the slightest yes and no, Mind is lost in confusion.
Produce Mind Without attachment to anything.
Rich food doesn't tempt the man who has eaten.
Where no Buddha, the Buddha works.
Once you preach, the point is gone.
No good thought, no evil thought.
Watch your own steps!
Seek satori within yourself! Where else?
Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?
Sitting motionless, nothing happening — Spring coming, grass growing.
Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.
When cold say cold; When hot say hot.
One blind man leads many blind men Into the fire hole hand in hand.
Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.
Reach for it, and you'll miss; let it loose, and it'll follow.
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.
Angry waves: not so dangerous as man's mind.
Ten thousand laws end in One : Don't stick to that, either!
Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.
Much understand, much problem. Little understand, little problem. Complete DON'T KNOW, no problem.