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