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