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