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