This literally translates as: Without having experienced the cold of winter, one cannot appreciate the warmth of spring.

Figuratively, this means: One cannot truly appreciate happiness without having gone through hardship.

There are many contrasts in life. One simply cannot fully know what joy is without having experienced misery, difficulty, and pain. How could you explain “light” if you did not have “darkness” to compare it to?

Embrace hardship, as it makes the good times seem even better.

子を持って知る親の恩 literally translates as: Only after you have a baby, you would appreciate your parents (feel the way they do, etc).

This is a bit like the “walk a mile in another man's shoes” saying. Basically, it's about you cannot fully understand the plight of others until you experience it yourself. It also shows appreciation for the plight of parents.

This Japanese proverb can also be translated a few more ways:

No man knows what he owes to his parents till he comes to have children of his own.

One knows not what one owes to one's parents till one comes to have children of one's own.

Only after you have a baby, you will appreciate your parents or feel the way they do.

Only after becoming a parent yourself do you realize how much you owe [how indebted you are] to your own parents.

Note: Because this selection contains some special Japanese Hiragana characters, it should be written by a Japanese calligrapher.

心印 is a Buddhist concept that simply stated is “appreciation of truth by meditation.”

It's a deep subject, but my understanding is that you can find truth through meditation, and once you've found the truth, you can learn to appreciate it more through further meditation. This title is not commonly used outside of the Buddhist community (your Asian friends may or may not understand it). The literal translation would be something like “the mind seal,” I've seen this term translated this way from Japanese Buddhist poetry. But apparently, the seal that is stamped deep in your mind is the truth. You just have to meditate to find it.

Soothill defines it this way: Mental impression, intuitive certainty; the mind is the Buddha-mind in all, which can seal or assure the truth; the term indicates the intuitive method of the Chan (Zen) school, which was independent of the spoken or written word.

Reference: Soothill-Hodous Dictionary of Chinese Buddhism

See Also:  Zen

謝謝 is how to say thank you in Chinese. It is pronounced a bit like “shea shea” as in the English word for shea butter. Except you pronounce the X like “sh” but with your tongue firmly at the bottom of your mouth.

Unless you are putting this wall scroll near the exit of your store or restaurant to thank customers for coming, it is a bit of an odd selection. A gift of thanks to another person should be a more personal selection with more meaning than a simple thank you. Although common to write xie xie inside a card or letter of thanks.

Technically, this can be pronounced in Japanese but in Japan, it’s still the Chinese way to say thank you. It’s like an English speaker saying "gracias" (Spanish word for thank you).

ありがとう is the simple way to say thank you in Japanese.

It's pronounced “Arigato.”

Note: Because this title is entirely Japanese Hiragana, it should be written by a Japanese calligrapher.

誰言寸草心報得三春暉 is the last line of a famous poem. It is perceived as a tribute or ode to your parents or mother from a child or children that have left home.

The poem was written by Meng Jiao during the Tang Dynasty (about 1200 years ago). The Chinese title is “You Zi Yin” which means “The Traveler's Recite.”

The last line as shown here speaks of the generous and warm spring sunlight which gives the grass far beyond what the little grass can could ever give back (except perhaps by showing its lovely green leaves and flourishing). The metaphor is that the sun is your mother or parents, and you are the grass. Your parents raise you and give you all the love and care you need to prepare you for the world. A debt that you can never repay, nor is repayment expected.

The first part of the poem (not written in the characters to the left) suggests that the thread in a loving mother's hands is the shirt of her traveling offspring. Vigorously sewing while wishing them to come back sooner than they left.
...This part is really hard to translate into English that makes any sense but maybe you get the idea. We are talking about a poem that is so old that many Chinese people would have trouble reading it (as if it was the King James Version of Chinese).