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