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