Géza Csáth

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Géza Csáth


Born
in Subotica, Serbia
February 13, 1887

Died
September 11, 1919


Géza Csáth (born József Brenner; February 13, 1887 – September 11, 1919), was a Hungarian writer, playwright, musician, music critic, psychiatrist and physician.

Average rating: 3.95 · 1,407 ratings · 107 reviews · 51 distinct worksSimilar authors
Opium and Other Stories

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4.03 avg rating — 423 ratings — published 1908 — 23 editions
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Egy elmebeteg nő naplója

3.71 avg rating — 333 ratings — published 1978 — 7 editions
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Diary of Geza Csath

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3.90 avg rating — 200 ratings — published 2002 — 9 editions
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Mesék, amelyek rosszul végz...

4.48 avg rating — 66 ratings — published 1997 — 3 editions
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Ópium

4.32 avg rating — 56 ratings2 editions
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Csáth Géza novellái

4.36 avg rating — 45 ratings — published 2006 — 2 editions
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A ​vörös Eszti

3.89 avg rating — 46 ratings — published 2020
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Bilinmeyen Evde

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3.53 avg rating — 40 ratings
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Fekete csönd

4.30 avg rating — 27 ratings
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A varázsló halála

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4.17 avg rating — 23 ratings3 editions
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More books by Géza Csáth…
Quotes by Géza Csáth  (?)
Quotes are added by the Goodreads community and are not verified by Goodreads. (Learn more)

“waking up mornings brings lingering suffering”
Geza Csath, Opium and Other Stories

“Suddenly I was struck by the heavy fragrance of flowers. On the other side there was a garden about the size of a small room, a plot of ground raised by fill to the height of our belts. And full of flowers. A special, luxuriant flora. Long stemmed, with horn-shaped flowers whose petals were like black velvet. In one corner, a bush like a lily, arrayed with giant white blossoms like goblets. And scattered through that garden, thin-stemmed plants with white flowers marked by a single pink petal. It seemed that these gave off an exotic sweetness that cloyed and choked. In the midst of it all a bunch of fat crimson flowers lay tumbled, their silky, fleshy blossoms dipping down among the long stems of furious green grasses. This small, magical plot seemed a kaleidoscope. Just in front of my eyes purple irises bloomed up. A myriad fragrances mingled in its dazzling scent, and every hue of the rainbow glowed from those flowers.”
Geza Csath, Opium and Other Stories

“Hallgasson ide. Hát először is, nem az idő múlik, hanem - mi. Ez régi dolog. Ezt már Kant is tudta. Idő nincsen. De van nekünk egy tudási pontunk. Az a tudat, hogy a testünk kopik, hogy az agyvelőnk sorvad, hogy a betegség megöl... hogy idő van. Pedig mondom, idő nincsen.”
Géza Csáth, A sebész és más novellák

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