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