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