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