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