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: 4.0 · 806 ratings · 64 reviews · 37 distinct worksSimilar authors
Opium and Other Stories

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4.10 avg rating — 309 ratings — published 1908 — 21 editions
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Diary of Geza Csath

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3.86 avg rating — 167 ratings — published 2002 — 8 editions
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Egy elmebeteg nő naplója

3.77 avg rating — 147 ratings — published 1978 — 4 editions
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Mesék, amelyek rosszul végz...

4.53 avg rating — 49 ratings — published 1997 — 3 editions
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Csáth Géza novellái

4.21 avg rating — 28 ratings — published 2006
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Válogatott elbeszélések

4.27 avg rating — 15 ratings — published 2011
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A varázsló halála

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4.42 avg rating — 12 ratings3 editions
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Lidércálmok

3.89 avg rating — 9 ratings2 editions
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Fej a Poharban: Naplo Es Le...

3.80 avg rating — 5 ratings2 editions
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A sebész és más novellák

4.25 avg rating — 4 ratings
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More books by Géza Csáth…
“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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