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