No good thought, no evil thought.

When cold say cold; When hot say hot.

Seeking words, chasing phrases: When do you have time for satori?

Never comparable to anything: How can I preach it?

Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.

Rich food doesn't tempt the man who has eaten.

Worldly passions inseparable from satori.

One blind man leads many blind men Into the fire hole hand in hand.

To call heaven earth makes it earth? To name earth heaven makes it heaven?

Everything is true just as it is: Why dislike it? Why hate?

Spring comes: grass grows.

A smiling face offers mercy; A troubled mind contains vicious poison.

A hungry dog bites a dry bone.

No ugliness in a loved child.

Fire is hot; water, cold.

Ordinary mind is the Way.

From the origins nothing exists.

Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.

Heaven, earth, and I: the same root. Everything and I: one thing.

Walking is Zen; sitting, too.

Watch your own steps!

Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?

Pictured rice cakes dissolve hunger?

Angry waves: not so dangerous as man's mind.

Open your mouth— instantly wrong; Move your tongue— against the truth.

With the slightest yes and no, Mind is lost in confusion.

Seek satori within yourself! Where else?

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.

One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.

Once you preach, the point is gone.

The Billion Worlds, a bubble on the sea; All Buddhas and Patriarchs, a flash of lightning.

Reach for it, and you'll miss; let it loose, and it'll follow.

Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.

Not flattered by praise, not hurt by blame.

The man who's drunk water Knows if it's cool or warm.

Need fire? Best strike a flint. Water? Dig a well.

Meeting Sakyamuni, kill him! Meeting Bodhidharma, kill him, too!

Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!

Coming back with satori but everything just as before: Hermit Mountain's drizzle and mist, Crooked River's waves . . .

Ten thousand laws end in One : Don't stick to that, either!

Day after day a very good day: Winds come and trees bow.

What is the color of the wind? Where does the rain come from?

Killing or vivifying is in these hands.

However priceless, a piece of gold In the eye is nothing but grit.

Much understand, much problem. Little understand, little problem. Complete DON'T KNOW, no problem.

From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.

Where no Buddha, the Buddha works.

It rains: the earth wet.

He dies, I die - Where can we meet?