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