Ken Burns

No, I'm not going to go back to New York.

No.

Why would I move to L.A.?

I'm going to be here.

Here in this little town in New Hampshire where any number of Oscar nominations and Grammys and Emmys means zero to the people that I live with.

It's like, did you shovel the lawn, the walk of the lawn?

of the lady next door who's not doing so well.

Did you do this?

Are you a good neighbor?

That's the stuff that matters, and it's a good place to raise kids as well.

And then the splendid isolation.

There's a great tradition, as you know, in American history of the way in which

wildness, nature becomes part of the American catechism, that it's possible, Walt Whitman is saying, that you can worship God more closely in nature than in cathedrals made by man.

This is the American catechism of being out in nature, and it manifests itself in different people who are aware of the power of nature.

Nature reminds you of your insignificance, and that is inspiriting.

This is paradoxical, right?

That's inspiriting.

Even though you're feeling insignificant, it's inspiriting.

Just as the egotist in our midst is diminished by his or her self-regard.

Right?