He dies, I die - Where can we meet?

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

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

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

Watch your own steps!

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

From the origins nothing exists.

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

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

It rains: the earth wet.

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

Where no Buddha, the Buddha works.

Seek satori within yourself! Where else?

Sitting motionless, nothing happening — Spring coming, grass growing.

From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.

One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.

When cold say cold; When hot say hot.

Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.

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

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

Not flattered by praise, not hurt by blame.

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

Pictured rice cakes dissolve hunger?

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

Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!

Ordinary mind is the Way.

Worldly passions inseparable from satori.

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.

Killing or vivifying is in these hands.

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

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

No good thought, no evil thought.

Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.

Fire is hot; water, cold.

No ugliness in a loved child.

A hungry dog bites a dry bone.

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

Spring comes: grass grows.

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

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?

Produce Mind Without attachment to anything.

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

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

Once you preach, the point is gone.

Merciful words come out of the merciful mouth.

Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?

Never comparable to anything: How can I preach it?

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

Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.