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