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